


Fissionable Materials

by Arizonacolleen



Series: Sophie Hollander Guinevere Series [10]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Japan, North Korea, Nuclear Weapons, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 12:36:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 67,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14671248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arizonacolleen/pseuds/Arizonacolleen
Summary: Sophie's continued mission work in North Korea.If absence makes the heart grow fonder, what does prolonged absence inspire?





	1. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to be away so long - but here it is, at last! 
> 
> Also, it's my birthday! So I hope you all enjoy Sophie's last story.
> 
> Anyway, off we go...

It was a warm Monday at Kingsman HQ, and Sophie Hollander was **bored**. She sat in her office, thumbing through intel reports to catch up on ongoing cases. She had just returned from decompression, and with Harry away on a mission it seemed their honeymoon period was over. Sophie rubbed her bare ring finger, smiling subtly to herself as she thought of the previous two weeks with Harry. He had passed the time doting on her as her stitches healed, rubbing salve into her back each night and snuggling close to her in bed. In Sophie’s wildest dreams, she imagined grand suites in Paris or perhaps an exotic getaway in the east, where they could have been together out in the open without jeopardy. Such things were not to be, however, and Sophie could not be sad when she remembered that he was her husband. Forever, in all things, they belonged to one another. They’d have those moments together, she resolved. Someday.

She sighed, dropping the dossier onto her desk. Who would’ve thought saving the world could prove dissatisfying? Yet her life seemed to vacillate between two great endeavors: marriage, and the work. She felt like a rubber ball, high and airy in Harry’s company only to cascade back down to the ground with a dense thud when work beckoned. She was no longer a girl driven by the notion of proving herself; replaced by a woman of abundance and resolve who had come to see work as an extension of herself. Now that woman sat in her office, annoyingly idle at the absence of both her great loves. For a moment, she wondered what Harry was doing.  
Her attention was drawn to her glasses, which vibrated gently against her desk with a low buzz. “Yes?” Sophie responded, returning the glasses to answer the communication. Through the lens, she spied the dining room and reasoned that it must be Arthur calling her to a briefing.

“On my way,” she answered, sipping the last of her tea as she stood and abandoned her stack of reports. She carried her teacup from her office, dropping it on the charlady’s trolley as she rounded the back staircase and made her way to the dining room. She opened the doors to greet Arthur and Merlin before taking her seat at the table and nodding to the fellow agents who were reporting in from various locations abroad. “Guinevere,” Arthur began, “it would seem that you returned just in time. Merlin, if you please…”  
Merlin stood, tapping his clipboard to bring a map onto the viewing screen. “As you may know, today marks the fourth round of six-nation discussions in Beijing.”  
“A terrific waste of time,” Sophie dismissed.  
“Quite,” Merlin replied, swiping the clipboard to zoom in on the map and pinpoint her drop.

“We agree that this effort at nuclear de-proliferation will likely fail, so the time to return to the region is now.” Arthur instructed, “Given our previous mission failure, we believe that deep cover is your safest option.” Sophie nodded, Michael briefly crossing her mind as Merlin added, “We have a bunker located here, just north of the reactor build site. It utilizes satellite technology from a mission in the early 90s, which should prove operational.” Merlin closed the map and turned back to Sophie, “We will be making several scheduled drops while you work with Edwin on your ingress strategy. Once you arrive, you can setup the bunker with the materials available.”  
“Arrive safely, set up your base camp and connect with the network of insurgents we have been supplying,” Arthur ordered, “Once completed, you should be set to return by Christmas.”  
“No time like the present I suppose,” Sophie said brightly. She settled into the leather chair for a moment, turning the information over in her mind. “How quickly can I deploy?”  
“We are hoping to deploy Friday evening,” Merlin answered, “provided everything goes well between now and then.” He offered a reassuring nod as Sophie’s glance shifted to Arthur, who sipped his tea silently. He returned his cup to its saucer before clearing his throat, “Guinevere, I am aware this mission has been very difficult in the past,” he began cautiously, “We just want you to know that the organization has complete faith in your commitment to this goal. We trust that you are the man for the job.”  
“I understood the mission to be ongoing and long-term when I accepted it in 1997,” Sophie assured, “I see no reason for that to change now.” Sophie closed the subject with a confident shake of her head.

“Wonderful,” Arthur responded, “then I’ll let you to it.” Sophie stood, looking to Merlin before turning to leave. “If you could convey to Edwin that I will be available tomorrow, I would appreciate it,” she requested, “I have some personal tasks to complete this afternoon in preparation.” Merlin gave a nod as Sophie turned and left the dining room. She went straight through to the locker room, grabbing her trench and handbag before she left the shop with a spring in her step.  
_A new mission! And one brief enough to assure her first Christmas as a married woman would be spent at home with her beloved._ Sophie was very pleased with the days turn of events indeed, and only hoped to see Harry return safely before she was slated to deploy on Friday evening. To do so would prove a brilliant sign of luck for her upcoming mission. 

 

Sophie walked into her flat, throwing her coat and handbag into her armchair as she passed it and continued down the hall to her bedroom. She pressed the blinking button on her dated answering machine as she began disrobing, listening to the monotonous messages pitching Vodafone and Virgin products she held no interest in purchasing. She rolled her eyes, buttoning her casual blouse when she recognized the voice and turned to focus on the machine. As she stood there in her panties and blouse, the young man’s voice filled the room. “Hello Soph, it’s James. I was sorry to have missed you at graduation, but the Rev explained that you were away on important business. I was wondering if you might be available for a drink? If so, just ring my mobile - it’s the same number. Cheers Soph!” Sophie smiled, slipping into her jeans before she switched off her answering machine and walked out to her office to pay some bills.

Sophie turned the British Gas envelope over, ripping through it to retrieve and examine her bill. This had become a task usually left to Kingsman customer services in her absence, but with Sophie home it seemed only right to address these tasks herself. She sighed, opening her checkbook and quickly scribbling down the sum before filling and sealing the return envelope. She tapped the pen against her blotter, struggling to keep her focus on the mundane stack of domestic expenses when she grasped a single sheet of paper from her note block. Grinning to herself, she slowly signed ‘Mrs. Sophie Hart’ onto the sheet a few times with her smooth Mont Blanc pen, watching the rich ink seep into the thick paper. She stared at the signature for a few silent moments before opening her desk drawer and retrieving her matches. Then, she ignited the paper, laying in into the glass ashtray on the desk and watching it burn to nothingness. 

Sophie stretched, feeding several inconsequential pieces of mail into the shredder before raising her arms above her head and leaning back in her office chair. She thought of James, wondering what made him reach out to her instead of Hislop. She had tried to be there for the kids over the years, but her missions had made that difficult to say the least. Maisey made things easier with her natural talent for crafting a row, but James had been a strong student and a self-reliant boy for years now. Sophie rubbed her eyes, _my goodness - he’s not a boy anymore, but a man with a degree._ She opened her address book and thumbed through for his mobile number, hoping it was good news that awaited her as she dialed the number and listened to the ringing on the line. “Hello James,” she greeted, “yes, I was delighted to hear from you and I’m very sorry to have missed your graduation ceremony. You know how proud I am of you. Yes, of course.” 

Sophie glanced around the room as she considered her chores, “Could you possibly give me an hour? I’m just finishing up a few things and then I could gladly meet you for a pint, at The Durrell Arms perhaps?” she offered, “Grand. See you there.” Sophie ended the call with no greater clarity as to his motivations but found she was looking forward to seeing him. She stood, collecting her bills and checkbook as she left her office. Tucking them into her handbag, Sophie walked to the bedroom and grabbed a small weekender bag and opened it on her bed. She then walked into the bathroom, collecting her washbag before shutting down the water to her toilet and ensuring the garbage was empty. She dropped the washbag into the weekender, checking all the locks on the balcony and windows before she collected the waste bin and carrying it to the kitchen. There, she switched the refrigerator to ‘holiday’ and emptied it into the bin with her refuse. 

With everything emptied, closed down, and packed up, she added her handbag to the weekender and slipped into her coat. She looked across her flat, ticking off a mental list so nothing was forgotten before she set the alarm and locked it down. This place was home in name, but with each closure it grew cold. There were no farewells to make - Sophie carried all the warmth with her, wondering if there had ever been any there at all. She closed the door, thinking of James as she secured the strap from her weekender to her shoulder and left. She couldn’t wait to get back to work, where everything made sense and served a purpose. She didn’t wish to admit it, since she worried what the admission might mean, but she loathed having so much time to fill, and the practice of collecting people to fill it. It was so exhausting, and serves too paltry a purpose when there was such important work to be done. 

 

James gave a pleasant wave as Sophie entered the pub and made her way to join him. “What are you drinking?” he asked as she set her bag down and took a seat.  
“Whatever you’re having,” Sophie replied, removing her coat as he walked to the bar. The pub had a respectable crowd for a Monday evening, and Sophie was certain that as the workday concluded it would grow. She stopped sweeping the pub for anyone she knew, even in her neighborhood. That time seemed to have passed, not that Sophie was bothered. James returned with two pints of lager, toasting before he and Sophie took their first sips. “You are looking well,” Sophie remarked happily as she set her glass onto the table. James blushed, finishing his drink before he responded. “I know you are often busy with work, so I just thought I’d try to catch up if you had any free time. It must be terribly exciting, what you do.” 

Sophie furrowed her brow, unsure of his meaning. “We all have our things,” she said casually.  
“Not all of us dress the Queen,” James whispered, excited. Sophie stared back at him, blinking slowly but saying nothing for a moment. “What?” she replied, incredulous.  
“The Rev told me,” James continued softly, “that’s why you weren’t at my graduation. It must be so exciting.” Sophie’s eyes drifted from his, focusing on nothing as she stifled a laugh. Hislop and his mischief never ceased to amaze her. “It has moments, yes.” Sophie agreed, “You must know something of excitement though, entering the working world. How’s that coming along?”  
James shrugged, taking another sip of his lager in silence. He seemed to avoid eye contact, and was distant as the small talk faded to silence. “What is the matter?” Sophie asked, her tone soft as she leaned in to offer a comforting smile. 

“I don’t know Soph,” he admitted, “it’s like I should know what I’m going to do by now but I don’t.”  
“You’re so young!” Sophie said with a dry laugh, “So what if you don’t know every little thing just yet?” Sophie rested her hand on his in reassurance as his eyes slowly met hers and he tried a meek smile. “I just feel like the ground opened up under me,” he explained, “it was so much easier before: when everything was laid out in front of me. Now I don’t know which way to go.”  
“My dear,” Sophie explained, “that’s a good thing. That’s a very good thing.” She squeezed his hand for emphasis as she concluded, “Everything is out there for you. All you have to do is go get it. Besides, soon enough you’ll meet a girl and everything will suddenly make sense. You’ll see. These things won’t matter as much as worry makes them seem to.”  
“I’m...gay,” James replied nervously. 

“I see,” Sophie replied, “well, that’s different. That shouldn’t matter at all.” Sophie’s smile grew and she threw him a reassuring wink before she stood. “This is my round,” she said, “the same?” James nodded, his expression brightening as Sophie left to collect the pints. Upon returning, Sophie opened her purse, uncapping her pen and scribbling out a cheque as she spoke. “Are you staying somewhere nice now?” she asked. James nodded, dismayed as she tore away the cheque and folded it in half before placing it in his hand. He attempted to hand it back, only to have Sophie persist. “This is just...one less thing to worry about. Until you are a great success yourself and can perhaps help someone else in your position.” She lifted her hands from his, but he stared at the folded paper for several minutes. “Thank you Sophie,” he said softly, “I didn’t call you for this. I hope you know that.”

“I know that,” Sophie dismissed, “but while you’re young, you can always use a bit more dosh. This way, you’re under no pressure to make your move until you are sure it is the right one.” He raised his pint to her, and she matched it. “To the young man that will suddenly make everything make sense,” she toasted. As she took a sip, James asked, “How is Mr. Hart?”  
“I’m sorry?” Sophie responded, puzzled by his inquiry.  
“Mr. Hart,” James repeated, “your coworker. The one that came for Christmas once.”  
“I suppose he’s fine,” Sophie guessed flippantly, “whatever made you think of him?”  
“He came in sometimes,” James answered, “while you were away. He’d light candles for you. We said hello in passing a few times. Did you not know?” A meek smile washed over Sophie’s face as she gave a subtle shake in response and finished her beer. “No. I didn’t know,” she said.

“I think he fancies you,” James commented, casually glancing at the cheque before blinking in disbelief. Sophie shrugged dismissively, hoping nothing in her smile was telling as James’ expression shifted dramatically. “Five thousand pounds? Soph, I can’t accept this.”  
He tried to extend the cheque back only to have Sophie press it back into his hand. She held it, giving a tender but firm squeeze to persist. “Take it. Everything is possible now, James. With this help, you might discover you’re an entirely different person than you expected to be.” She said, releasing his hand and returning to her pint with a tone that James took to mean the conversation was closed. He nodded slowly, and tucked the cheque into his pocket without further protest. “Harry and I are friends and coworkers,” Sophie concluded, her focus still on damage control as she concluded, “nothing more. He’s just a lovely man, visiting like that.”

Sophie stepped from the pub, taking a deep breath of the pleasant evening air as James followed her onto the path. They walked along, taking it the summer evening together in silence when a hooded figure approached them. Grabbing Sophie’s bag, he attempted to take flight only to have Sophie immediately trigger the contact on her ring and punch him squarely in the jaw. James stood, shocked as the mugger dropped to the ground in convulsions and Sophie pulled him along by his arm to leave the scene. “Shouldn’t we call someone?” James asked, “The police?” Sophie continued walking briskly away, pulling James as he continued to look back at the hooded figure on the ground. “He’s perfectly fine,” Sophie explained, “he’s just going to have a lie down and think about his life choices. Perhaps he’ll prove wiser for the wear.” Now a few blocks away from the event, Sophie turned back to face James on the quiet street.

“Take care of yourself, James,” she advised him, caressing his cheek, “and maybe take a self-defense class. The world can be an unkind place.” She mingled his hairline in her fingertips, letting them slip through her loose grip as he stepped forward and hugged her.  
“I love you Sophie,” he whispered to her, embracing her in a warm hug. Sophie merely stood there, unsure how to react to the warm feeling in her chest as he held her. “And I you,” she comforted, “Don’t worry. You’re a lovely young man and everything is going to be fine.” Sophie pulled from his hug, flashing him a reassuring smile as she studied his face for a moment.  
“I want you to call - even if you have to leave a message with the service,” Sophie instructed, “and should you need anything at all…” James interrupted, raising a hand to silence her. Sophie pursed her lips to curb her smile, nodded, and turned to part company.

 

Edwin stood behind a glass shield, taking notes as a large flamethrower engulfed a Kingsman suit wrapped around a body form. He looked through his darkened goggles as several instruments measured the temperature and conditions within the torso of the suit. Sophie walked into the lab, stopping short as she saw the flames from behind Edwin. She slowly approached, placing her hand gently onto Edwin’s left shoulder and giving it a soft squeeze. “Good morning Guinevere,” Edwin said, “capital day.” He pressed a button on his clipboard, shutting down the flamethrower before turning to face Sophie, who was still looking up at the smoking suit. “Yes it is,” she muttered, looking up. Edwin removed his goggles, offering a pleasant smile as he turned his focus to the agent. “I’m hoping to get them flameproof, so we’re testing the heat shielding against stress. For the heart and lungs, you understand.” She didn’t, but nodded anyway.

“Like the umbrellas,” Sophie remarked as they stepped around the glass and into the lingering heat from the flamethrower. “The umbrel...good heavens, no,” Edwin replied, “those are only flame retardant.” He set his materials onto his workbench and grabbed another clipboard from the opposite side with several sketches clipped to it. “These suits are far superior in quality.” His flat, matter-of-fact response made Sophie smile. She could inform him that the ‘inferior’ umbrella withstood a grenade blast a month ago, but she was certain he already knew that. Good old Edwin. Edwin opened a drawer, producing a bodysuit sealed within a plastic bag marked with the Kingsman logo and handed it to her. “Being that entering the country without detection is our dilemma here, I’ve worked up a prototype that should serve our needs nicely. Please follow me.” Sophie clutched her package, walking across the lab with Edwin until they came upon a rowboat.

It looked old, weather-beaten and was covered in chipping paint but Sophie could see immediately that this was an Edwin special. He pressed a button on his clipboard and the boat began descending from its overhead rigging. “You will need to slip into that bodysuit so we can take accurate readings of your vitals. No undergarments, please.” Edwin explained, “They interfere with our readings.” Edwin merely took a sidestep, turning his back to Sophie and gesturing to a space with a small privacy shade to the right of the boat for her to change. Sophie began peeling away her coat as she stepped over to the small dressing area. Perhaps this would’ve seemed an oversight to some, but Sophie had come to expect this sort of businesslike indifference from Edwin. Truth be told, she found it quite welcoming. “After all this time, I could be forgiven for thinking you find me as attractive as an old boot,” Sophie remarked, giggling softly to herself as she threw her trousers across the bench to keep the pleats intact. 

“Why would you say that?” Edwin asked, sketching onto the attached sheets as he stood with his back to her, “You’re perfectly lovely, Guinevere.” Sophie couldn’t resist indulging her impish nature as she stripped her undergarments and stepped into the bodysuit. “All the times I’ve been naked in this office, and you have never asked me out.” Sophie replied, “Not even once!” She continued to pull the suit up the length of her body as her remark registered with Edwin, who turned back to her puzzled only to immediately turn away again, a deep crimson blooming on his face. “People do that?” he demanded, scandalized, “Here? At work?”  
Sophie was shaking with laughter at his tone as she slipped her arms into the suit and pulled it up and over her chest. “We agents aren’t supposed to, of course,” she explained, “but the service personnel that make everything work around here? Well, yes Edwin. They do.” 

Now completely dressed, she walked over to Edwin, placing a single kiss on his cheek as he stood with a look on deep confusion on his face. “So, what’s next?” she asked, her thirst for mischief satiated. Edwin shook his head, refocusing his attention to the test before them. “Yes,” he explained, clearing his throat, “this boat will be deployed from one of our larger vessels, drifting to the beacon we have installed at the shore. You will be tucked safely inside it until it anchors and the site is secured, but since that could be any amount of time, we need to ensure you can safely remain in the confinement area for at least six hours before we approve this device.” Sophie looked at the boat, unclear of his direction. “Confinement area?” she asked. Edwin pressed the remote, and the hull of the boat split and a lifted, exposing a small space built within the side of the boat. Sophie looked over the side, examining the space with a slight grimace. “I see,” she replied succinctly. 

Edwin offered a stabilizing hand as Sophie stepped into the boat and lay back into the tight space. “Oh,” Edwin instructed, “not like that. You’ll need to be on your stomach. You could, uh, drown should you become sick.” Edwin pursed his lips, his eyes drifting away as Sophie nodded, rolling over and turning her face to the side. “I’m ready,” she called. Edwin took a step back, speaking into Sophie’s com as he initiated the test. “OK Guinevere, if you will take a deep breath and slowly release it as we replace the hatch, that should be the most comfortable way to acclimate yourself. We will be here, analysing your readings as we go.” Sophie drew a deep breath as she felt the men lay the hatch against her back. “Should I attempt to stay awake, or speak?” Sophie asked, “I feel as though I might fall asleep in this position.” Edwin released a nervous chuckle, responding, “That’s all right. It’s my suspicion that you won’t have any choice.”

Sophie tried to steady her nerves as she heard the computer sound the initiation and she felt the slow, constant pressure of the hatch closing down on her as she released her breath. With her firmly pinned into place, she heard the hatch lock into place, and tried to adjust her breathing to settle into the space to little avail. She listened to Edwin speaking, then recognized Merlin’s voice, but was unable to raise her own voice to respond. She was unsure if they were speaking to her, and though she tried to slowly and calmly continue to breathe, it felt as though no air was reaching her. With no way to move or respond, Sophie trusted the suit and closed her eyes in an attempt to calm her nerves. For a moment.  
“Guinevere!” Merlin shouted, hastily pulling the hatch away and lifting Sophie out of the compartment. Once upright, Sophie began coughing, gasping for air as Merlin helped her to the cot. 

“I just don’t understand it,” Edwin said, “Those measurements should have been a perfect fit.”  
“Well, clearly they weren’t,” Merlin countered, offering oxygen to Sophie who waved it away as she held her chest and continued to breathe. “She’s going to need more space.”  
Edwin huffed, annoyed with his failure as he studied his notes with a furrowed brow. “I could adjust more for the yaw, perhaps…” He looked up as Sophie leaned back and took a deep breath, “I’m terribly sorry Guinevere. Are you alright?”  
Sophie smiled, swiping at the air in response, “If anyone is going to kill this old boot,” she quipped with a light cough, “I’d prefer it was you, Edwin.”  
“Sit tight,” he ordered, leaving her momentarily and returning with a fresh cup of tea. Sophie accepted it, feeling the warmth flow into her mouth and she inhaled the rich bouquet of steam rising from the cup. 

“It’s peppermint,” Edwin mentioned, falling silent in his shame about the experiment failure. Sophie swallowed the liquid thankfully, “It’s gorgeous. Perfect, in fact. Thank you.” She nodded to Edwin before returning to the cup as he and Merlin conferred with one another. “Are you keeping arrival time?” Merlin asked. Sophie lowered her teacup, nodding in confirmation, “Yes, but with North Korea some eight hours ahead of us, it’s more like making an early night of it than acclimating really.”  
Merlin nodded, looking back at the boat as he readjusted the timeline. “So that we can make the necessary adjustments to the transport, we will need to postpone this until at least Thursday,” Merlin announced, “Plan to return for retrial, Thursday evening at 2100.” Sophie agreed, turning back to the privacy shade to dress and leave them to their work.

She emerged moments later, handing the bodysuit back to Merlin while Edwin scribbled furiously into his notes at his desk. She walked over to him, hoping he wasn’t beating himself up too badly for this failed experiment. “Edwin,” she began, her tone curious as she stopped before the suit, “I just...I’m curious about something.” Edwin stopped his writing, walking around to meet her in front of the flame proof suit. “How can I help?” he asked affably.  
“Well,” Sophie said with a sigh, “you’ve clearly mastered this suit. But as an Agent, what am I to do with my head?” Edwin looked up at the suit as Sophie shrugged, suggesting, “Maybe if the lapels extended...and could cover?”  
Edwin’s eyes trailed down as his mind went to work on the mechanics of improving the suit and a smile spread across his face. Sophie handed him the teacup, “Until Thursday,” she said.

 

Sophie stirred, opening her eyes and staring up at Harry’s ceiling. She had hoped to see him before she deployed, but with this Friday upon her she reluctantly acknowledged it likely wasn’t to be. She lay in the bed, listening to the quiet and silently hoping to hear his tenor ring through it before she was forced to move on from this perfect and loving space. It wasn’t until the chime of the hall clock that Sophie acknowledged the morning had passed, and she must get up and face the day. She peeled back the soft duvet, rising and stumbling from the bedroom in her snow white silk chemise, gripping the lush carpet between her toes. She brushed her teeth, lifting a handful of water to rinse as she looked over at the shaving set she had purchased for him so many Christmases ago. She patted her mouth with the small hand towel, taking the jar of Taylor of old Bond Street shaving cream in her hands as she sat against the side of the bath.

Unscrewing the top, she closed her eyes and inhaled the rich aroma of almond oil, imagining his freshly shaved face brushing against hers. A pained expression washed over her face as her memory turned to longing and she turned her ring around her finger in the silence of the flat. That ring might’ve meant belonging to him forever, but it didn’t assure having him. She closed the cream and left the room, resting it back among his kit in the dark. Still in her chemise, she walked upstairs and took a study of his sitting room. Past his vibrant and full bookcase, she sat at his desk, looking over his butterfly books as well as the mounting and framing materials which had remained since he received the call which abruptly ended their brief honeymoon period. She recalled his expression as he looked up at her, aware he had to go. She tucked her legs under her, leaning back in the high back leather chair that always made her feel small and sighed.

She sat there, indulging in having nothing to do as she watched the daylight streak slowly across the room from his leather chair. In a few hours, she’d be packed inside a shipping container bound for North Korea and the Sea of Japan; but but now she remained in the silence of this flat as she tried to remember every wall and scent of home. She didn’t know what Harry was doing on this mission - he was dreadful about filing reports in a timely fashion, but she didn’t worry. If ever there were a specimen of man in control of himself, it was her husband. Sophie held to that resolve even as she longed for him. Even as she considered it, she found herself wondering if being in this space alleved her pining or merely fed into it. All she knew was that the feeling…was home. She didn’t want to know where she ended and where Harry began. Also, she was hungry. Sophie shrugged, leaving the sitting room in search of something to eat.

Six months of MREs ought to motivate a really special final meal, but Sophie found herself sitting in the dining room, spreading Harry’s homemade preserves onto a piece of brown toast without any ceremony. She closed the jar and, realising she was alone, licked the underside of the spoon and then her fingers. My lord, was it delicious. She sipped her tea, chewing her toast as she read the Times and debated another spoonful of preserves. At least she would shed a few pounds in that bunker, which made Sophie smile as she collected her dishes and walked into the kitchen. She couldn’t wait to wow Harry come Christmas. That thought kept her spirits high as she washed the dishes and replaced everything in the kitchen. She walked back to the bedroom, leaning up to make the bed when she paused. There was something sad in leaving the bed pristine, as though she hadn’t been there at all. She decided to leave the crease in place, shedding her chemise and laying it in the place for him to find when he returned. 

With nothing left to do, Sophie slipped off her ring and placed it into Harry’s secret compartment. She then placed her washbag into her weekender and locked it into the compartment in the guestroom for storage. She dressed before doing a final sweep, ensuring everything was just so before she left the apartment. Walking up the stone path to Gloucester Rd, Sophie tried to leave her feelings behind her and focus on the mission before her. There were plenty of things to consider with this new directive, and completing this mission was the quickest way to find herself back in Harry’s arms. Sophie flagged a black cab, climbed in and instructed the driver to take her to Saville Row. She looked out the window, trying to take in as much of her beloved London as possible before they reached her destination and she began prepping to deploy. She thought of James, of Hislop, and tried not to worry too much for Harry.


	2. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another day at work, same as any other

Sophie checked her instrumentation, climbing into the rowboat and sliding into position. In a few moments, the side of the shipping container would open and the boat would be launched out into the sea to make its way to the arrival point. She triggered the release, exhaling slowly as the side lowered and locked her into place. In the dark confines of the transport, Sophie felt her heart pound as she remembered Edwin’s words the week before in London.

 

“What do you think of the new cabin?” Edwin called as Sophie stood on the platform. Sophie stood, looking into the boat which was suspended ten feet above Edwin on the ground below. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for, but left the platform steps and climbed into the boat while Edwin switched to her com. She settled into the opening, noting the soft and foam-like lining which lined the small compartment. “My goodness,” Sophie exclaimed, “upgrades?” She slipped into the compact foam, which formed around her without being rigid.  
“Well, I had three whole days,” Edwin shrugged, “it just seemed prudent to make a few.”  
Sophie smiled, relaxing into the space and slowing her breathing down to prepare for the compression when Edwin continued, “That foam will insulate against the cold, and you’ll be a lot less likely to sustain a serious injury from the drop now. That’s the most important part.”

“Injury?” Sophie inquired, “Edwin, this isn’t going to kill me, is it?” Sophie listened for a few troubling moments in the dark of the compartment as Edwin reviewed his clipboard and cleared his throat. “Edwin!” Sophie demanded, her concern masked in a nervous laugh. Edwin’s focus returned to her inquiry immediately as he replied, “Sorry Guinevere, heh, I was just double checking my calculations. There’s no reason to believe this will cause you harm.”  
Sophie sighed, relieved as he concluded, “Of course, that’s what we are here to test.”  
“Oh,” Sophie said, her concern returned, “right. Well, since we’re here it’s best to press on. As it were.” Sophie began to wonder exactly what was in store as the hatch lowered and compressed her into the space. Sophie released her breath in a slow stream, but found the compartment much more agreeable if still a bit snug. “Edwin, this is much improved. Many thanks!” she said.

“The previous measurements should’ve proven adequate,” Edwin muttered, his focus obviously on my calculations, “Perhaps there was an increase in girth since the last physical…”  
“Gordon Bennett,” Sophie huffed, rolling her eyes at his cheek. She most certainly had not had any sort of increase, though she realized Edwin was muttering to himself without thinking. He cleared his throat loudly in response, making evident his dissatisfaction with his own miscalculation. “When triggered, oxygen will flow into the compartment,” he advised, “just for, you know, safety.” Sophie considered assuring him that she was quite alright, but before she could offer him solace he returned to form and the moment was lost. She refrained, not wanting to further his doubts. “Prepare for launch test,” he announced, “on your command, Guinevere.”  
Sophie held her breath, unsure what to expect before she responded, “Affirmative Edwin - go for launch test.”

 

In the Sea of Japan, the side of the shipping container rolled up and exposing the inside to the elements. Locked firmly inside the compartment, Sophie’s boat shot from the container and dropped the length of the shipping vessel in the dark before plunging into the freezing water. Sophie felt the impact ripple through the vessel but was unharmed. “Successful launch,” she said, unsure if her feed was broadcasting, “good show Edwin.” She felt the cold as her boat began to turn and orient itself in the waves coming from the massive shipping vessel. She sighed, wondering how long her little boat had to bob along in covert drift to her position. It was colder than she was expecting, but not dangerously so. She knew she ought to use this time to sleep, but falling into sleep doesn’t happen just because we wish it to. If there was one thing out deep cover Sophie loathed, it was the long and protracted periods where there was nothing for her to do except wait. 

She remembered the feeling of the boat dropping suddenly in the lab, followed by Edwin cheerfully informing her that he would be back in six hours to release her and check her vitals. She smiled as she noted his confidence suddenly returned in his pleasant tone. She envied his job satisfaction, certain her compromises were many in comparison to his. It was best to resist thinking about how long the journey might prove, so of course Sophie found herself consumed with the thought. She paced her breathing as the boat bobbed up and down, creating a lull that she hoped might bring on a bit of a nap before she arrived and had to get to get to work. Then, she thought of Harry, wondering if he had yet to return to london from his mission. She tried to picture his face as he entered his bedroom to discover her message to him, closing her eyes and finally relaxing in the cold darkness as the tiny boat slowly moved to the shore.

The boat finally connected with a metal anchor hidden below the surface, locking into place and jostling Sophie awake. The boat performed a silent scan, projecting a laser which swept the beach for any witnesses before the hatch released and Sophie slipped from the compartment and into the boat. The night air was harsh, and Sophie made a mental note to bring a coat next time as she slowly stepped over the side and slipped her boot into the water. Slowly cutting through the water, Sophie tried to remain as silent as possible, allowing her eyes to adjust to the pitch darkness of the night. She knew her communications system might fail, and had memorised the route to her safehouse by crossing the gym blindfolded in the days before her mission. She was nearly there when she heard it: the first sound that she knew could not have been nature. Freezing, she drew her weapon and exhaled, prepared for whatever await her. 

“Kingseu maen?” A meek voice whispered from the trees. Sophie lowered her weapon a bit, trying to gauge the origin of the inquiry. She knew if it were a soldier, she’d be dead by now, and her thoughts flashed to Michael as she calmly replied, “ye, jeoneun Kingsman-ibnida.”  
A tiny, seemingly emaciated boy emerged from behind a tree and stood shivering as he looked at her. Sophie immediately holstered her weapon, taking a step toward him slowly. He seemed so small to her, and she wondered what brought him into this sort of situation before realising that could likely be asked of anyone in this place - herself included. She met him, resting a hand on his shoulder that made him wince before she soothed, “gwaenchanh-a. naega hal su issdamyeon naneun yeogie issseubnida. sangjalo naleul annae hal su issseubnikka?” The boy nodded, turning and leading her in the dark to her safehouse, which appeared abandoned.

He turned, walking to the boarded up door and pulling a rod from the hinge on the right, pushing the door slowly. Sophie noted the large sign, reading: 경고! 오염! (Warning! Contamination!) but figured that was to dissuade anyone from trespassing as she entered the tiny shack. She knew it had been placed here over twenty years before, but was unsure what await her inside. Once the smell of mildew settled, Sophie retrieved her glasses and switched on the nightvision to sweep the room. She immediately noted the three large supply crates tucked safely inside the room, and she silently wondered how such a frail looking boy was able to move them inside without being detected. These people were so amazing, and Sophie knew they were not only risking their lives but the lives of their loved ones to help her on this mission. She then wondered if there was any way she could show her gratitude when he directed her attention to the floor. 

He stepped down, pointing to a spot as Sophie approached and directing her until her shoe found the fitting and released the false floor with an audible click. The planks in the center of the room lifted slightly and Sophie left the hidden release to lift the floor, exposing a staircase to a lower level. Sophie peered down, slowly descending the staircase as her glasses worked to guide her in the pitch blackness. She reached the bottom step, reaching for the key hidden within her shoe to open the chamber door to what would become her bunker for the duration of the mission. Once inside, Sophie switched off the nightvision before she switch on the lights to check the reserve battery. Luckily, they seemed in good form if a bit weak, and the room came into view. Sophie pulled the door ajar, ascending the steps to focus her attention on moving the supply crates down into the space so she could begin setting up her command space. 

 

“Now this is really something,” Edwin explained, walking Sophie around the crate with a spring in his step. Sophie watched as Edwin lifted a single finger, guiding the side of the crate away and activating the robotic dolly contained within it. The dolly unfolded, creating a flat platform for lifting and moving cargo. “Take this,” Edwin instructed, offering the handle to Sophie as she stepped forward. As she grasped the dolly, Edwin directed her to a large crate at the back of the lab and signalled for her to lift it. To her amazement, it lifted and glided as though it were practically weightless. Sophie looked up at Edwin, who clutched his clipboard with a look of prideful contentment at his creation. “Please,” he offered, clearing his throat, “continue to the staircase. We need to assess the handling of the dolly at an incline to ensure it will work out in the field.”  
“You mean to ensure if I will work out,” Sophie quipped, “the instrument is quite perfect.”

 

Within the building, Sophie walked to the nondescript crate and pulled the side away, transforming it to the trusted dolly, for a moment wondering if the insurgents were aware of it. The boy had remained in the corner by the door, listening for any sign of someone approaching as she worked. With the dolly in hand, Sophie began pulling the first crate to the staircase, easing the heavy cargo down the steps to the bunker. She reached the bottom, pushing it into place before returning to retrieve the other two. Once all three crates were moved into the bunker, Sophie checked each crate before opening the perishables container and sending dozens and dozens of MRE packages spilled out across the floor at her feet. Sophie sighed, bending to collect one before walking back up the steps and calling out the boy who stood watch. He nervously followed her down the steps as she secured the entrance and followed. 

Sophie ripped open the MRE, punching the pouch to activate the heating pocket and removed the utensils and seasonings. She set in on the table in the center of the room and collected a chair for the boy to sit, which he did with a slight reticence. She removed her flask from her inside pocket, taking a drink before offering it to him. After a few shakes of her hand, he accepted it while she removed the heating pouch and opened the meal for him. “Igeon neol-wihangeoya. dowa jwoseo gomawo,” she explained, and without hesitation he began to eat heartily. Sophie looked away slightly, hoping to spare embarrassment she soon realized he did not have. She felt such sympathy for him, but needed to keep her relationship with him professional. She knew this was best if she wished to help him and those like him. Sentimentality was dangerous, and helped no one in situations like this one. 

As soon as the boy finished, Sophie cleared her throat and started again. She advised him that she would need time to make arrangements, and to look for a rock formation at the base of the tree where he signalled her. If he saw the rock formation, there would be a drop for him. Any information he had for her should be buried there and covered with a rock. “Mullon, amuegedo malhaji mal-ayahabnida.” Sophie concluded, showing the boy to the door. She drew her weapon, checked the surroundings for signs of anyone and sent him home. She then locked the front door and once she was sure there was no evidence of her presence in the room, descended to the bunker with the floor locked back into place. She locked herself into the tiny room and took a moment to adjust to the confines of the space. _It’s only a few months,_ Sophie comforted herself, _it’ll be over before you know it._

Sophie looked at her watch - 4:41AM. She had less than two hours before sunrise, when she should be locking down for the night. She sighed, surveying the room and taking in the facilities before she set to work unpacking and setting up the base. She walked to the corner, testing the latrine and tracing the oxygen intake at ground level. _Good,_ she thought to herself, _breathing will prove essential to success. One box ticked._ Sophie shook her head, a dry laugh escaping her as she primed the small pump and tested the ice cold water from the spout. As it spilled into her hand, her fingers ached and Sophie wondered if she might have a touch of arthritis. _Could it be too much to ask to face a slimy megalomaniac...at the Savoy?_ she thought, rolling her eyes. She shook her hands dry, flexing them as she pulled a small tablet from her inner pocket. She opened it as she walked to the console and plugged it in to boot up.

As the old system configured, connecting to the satellite and downloading upgrades, Sophie opened the second crate and searched through the supplies. Finding the bedding, she lifted the vacuum sealed bag and set it on the metal bunk before slicing the bag with her pocket knife and unrolling the pad to allow it to take shape. She collected the spilled MREs from the ground, stacking them along the small shelf space beside the computer and above the trash incinerator. Sophie frowned, unsure where she was going to store the extra supplies in the small space. The bunker was never designed to be a long term camp, and though functional would not be comfortable. She looked at the crates, wondering if she could perhaps make storage from the container. Just then, the console began whirring - drawing her focus away from the domestic and to her only connection to the outside world. She abandoned the crate and returned to it.

She began typing idly into the console interface, wondering if Edwin had been considerate enough to pack her an envelope of whiskey among her meal selections. _It would be the best breakfast imaginable,_ she thought with a sly smile as she remembered her last proper drink before the mission. The cold in the bunker reminded her of the stone as she rested her cheek upon it, knocking on the large wooden door of her church and former home. Reverend Hislop opened it, torch in hand with a riddled expression at the hour. “Sophie?” he asked, looking at his watch, “Are you quite alright?”  
Sophie responded by lifting her bottle of Glendronach, gently swaying it back and forth for him to admire. “Have a drink with me, like two adults,” she offered, her tone jovial if a bit spiffed. Hislop looked at her with mild disapproval before opening the door wider to invite her in.

“The Queen??” Sophie laughed aloud, covering her mouth with her glass as she rested over the arm of the leather sofa in Hislop’s study. Hislop sipped the whiskey, impressed by its quality as he rested in the large leather armchair beside his desk. It was a familiar scene - Sophie curled up on the sofa she had often slept on as a child, book on chest, and Hislop in the armchair where he answered the great questions that occur to children. Sophie might’ve told herself this was a drink between two adults, but some dynamic simply never change. “Good Heavens, why her?” Sophie continued, stifling her laughter as she looked to him for an answer. Hislop blinked a few times, pursing his lips and having another sip of the whiskey. “I knew it wouldn’t invite any further questions,” Hislop explained, “I knew you wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings, and missing his graduation over the Queen was an understandable reason. I was put on the spot, you know.”

“I can’t believe he bought it,” Sophie remarked, refilling her glass, “You’re a terrible liar.”  
“I’m a Vicar!” he protested, “providing cover isn’t in my job description.” Sophie extended the bottle, ignoring his initial wave of dismissal until he leaned forward and allowed her to refresh his glass. “Graduation…” she mused aloud, “The most important, least important time in a man’s life. I hope he’s taking it as seriously as it really is and not simply worrying himself sick over what comes next.” Sophie gave an audible sniff with a hint of futility in it.  
“You love him,” Hislop countered, dismissing her fleeting cynicism as a product of the drink.  
“I love all of humanity,” Sophie replied, “just...not one at a time. I haven’t the energy for that.” There was a sadness buried in her admission that Hislop did not care for. He had hoped marriage might soften her darkness, and hearing her now proved his hope had been in vain.

“I don’t know that I believe that,” Hislop said, “love means so many things. After all, sacrifice is giving love. Is that not the lesson of our Lord Jesus?”  
“I am not Jesus,” Sophie said flatly, “Jesus never killed anyone.”  
Sophie swallowed hard, immediately embarrassed of herself for the admission. She looked at her glass - immediately a nine year old caught playing in the rectory and hoping not to be. Silence fell over the room before Hislop asked, “Have you killed someone?”  
Sophie finished her whiskey, drew a calming breath and looked at him before she answered, “Yes, but they all deserved it.” The silence again consumed the space, while Sophie stared forward and Hislop tried to understand a world he knew so little about. He knew, even loved Sophie - yet her admission had shocked him. He read her face in waves though her tone resolute.

“How do you know when the sacrifice is enough?” Sophie asked, “I mean, how…do you know the difference between ‘I don’t wish to’ and ‘I can’t do this anymore’?” She refilled her glass, and Hislop longed for the days when her questions seemed easy to answer. He wanted to tell her to quit - to give it all up, but he knew that was for his selfish reasons. He’d sleep better at night thinking of her safely in London, yet he knew this was a foolish longing. She was the woman she was meant to be, there was no denying that.  
“We don’t choose our calling,” he answered honestly, “all require sacrifices and make demands of us.” Hislop watched as a bittersweet smile found her and she rested against the arm of the sofa. She sighed, her whole body relaxing against it as she closed her eyes. “Where is your husband?” He asked.  
“Classified,” Sophie said softly.

Hislop watched as a pleasantly drunk Sophie relaxed into the sofa, and for a moment he was glad she hadn’t been alone. He didn’t know where Harry was, but he knew that being apart so soon had taken a toll on his ward. “I go out in a few days,” she sniffed sleepily, “don’t worry. It won’t be so long this time. I know what I’m doing.”  
Hislop set his glass down and stood, draping the blanket from the back of the sofa over Sophie as she lay there. “I never worry about you,” he assured, “You are the lamp.” He rested a hand on her head, his thumb brushing her forehead before he pulled the glass from her slumbering hand and took the bottle back to the small sink at the back of his office. Setting them down beside the sink, he looked over his shoulders at her as she slept on his sofa and then dimmed the lights and left his study. 

Sophie smiled as she thought of it, remembering he had kept the rest of the bottle. She hoped he was enjoying it even as she thought of him now. She typed her confirmation of arrival, sending it along with the hope of receipt and response and looked around the room as she noted the time. All these tasks would have to wait until tomorrow. She shed her tactical gear and rested it beside the bed before removing her gun and clip and laying them beside the pillow. From the bed, she took another sweep of the bunker and sighed to herself. “Home Sweet Home,” she said aloud to no one. Then, she switched off the light and lay down, fully dressed, on the cot for her first shift. For a time, her mind was flooded with a list of things: to not forget, to have done, to do upon waking up. As her body relaxed, her thoughts drifted to Harry and she wondered if he were safely home yet. 

Harry was, in fact, home, having arrived that afternoon to HQ. He filed his reports, subtly checking the board and noting Sophie’s departure before he collected his coat and left for home. He arrived back at Stanhope Mews, stepping into his silent abode and passing through to drop his bags when he discovered the chemise left for him several days before. He smiled, lifting it and breathing in her perfume in the silence. He wondered for the moment what she was doing, turning and walking up the stairs to his office to access the system and read her status report. As he typed in his access code, he frowned as she status report returned - System Failure. Harry stared at the screen, unsure what the failure might be but hoping it was a simple one. He reclined in his chair, thinking of Sophie and reminding himself she was probably fast asleep by now. He resolved to check in later, and left to finish his unpacking.

Meanwhile, with Harry fresh in her thoughts, Sophie turned over and drifted into easy sleep.


	3. Christmas

Sophie held to the overhead bar, lifting her legs and bringing her knees up toward her chest in evenly paced curls as she took deep breaths. After the fifth rep, she lowered her legs before releasing the bar and rolling her shoulders and neck. She then checked her pulse, breathing deep before grabbing the bar and beginning another set. She found that exercise passed the time while keeping her mind sharp and prevented too much meditation, which Sophie had mixed feelings about. With nearly five months of isolation, she was anxiously longing to return to London and sit by the fire with her dearest husband. At least the exercise seemed, if not to warm her, to keep a chill at bay in this bunker - which was freezing in this late December. Sophie pulled her knees up to her chest, exhaling in a puff of visible vapor. Of course, she didn’t complain in her reports. A spot of tea would best this chill - a proper cuppa makes anything right. 

She dropped back to her feet, stretching with a slow twist as she walked over to her flask and poured a steaming cup of tea. The past few months had been exceedingly productive indeed, as she had made several important contacts working within the nearby reactor building sites. Though international negotiations might have signaled a possible peace, here within the region there had been no stopping. The workers continued - what choice had they, yet as their fear and reticence to these events grew Sophie found it relatively easy to connect with them. Perhaps it was her English manner, or her deep devotion, but when she spoke to the few members of the resistance they followed. Since those first meetings, they had been instrumental in supplying blueprints and documents which were now in the hands of MI-6. Sophie sipped her tea, taking a moment to silently pray over the safety of every person risking their life to help her in this place.

Setting the cup onto the table, she walked over to the console to pull up any updates for her extraction. There wasn’t really anything for her to pack beyond closing down the bunker and layering her clothing, but Sophie wanted every box ticked for when the order for her return finally came. The satellite console slowly began to retrieve information as she laid out and pieced together items for the extraction on the table. She looked to the simple shelves she had constructed out of the supply crates, biting her lower lip as she considered whether or not to leave the meal supplies behind. She wondered if there were any markings within them that divulge any sensitive information when the console registered a low buzz, alerting her to the inbox. Sophie abandoned her preparation, walking over to the console and entering her passcode to receive her updated itinerary, rubbing her stomach somewhat critically as she did.

 

“You don’t think I’m too muscular, do you?” Sophie wondered aloud, examining herself as she reached for her martini glass. Lancelot stared at her, waiting for the punchline but saying nothing. Sophie looked up from her glass, her long eyelashes batting slowly as she waited for the absent reply. “You do! I knew it,” Sophie sighed, “I knew I was getting a bit too firm for the feminine.” Sophie obscured her face behind the large martini, taking a slow sip and lowering her eyes. It was this vein of unconscious doubt that James was certain he had first fallen in love with - a quality that might’ve seemed designed to solicit reassurance or compliment in a more calculating woman. However, he knew that unless working, Sophie was as genuine and true a woman as he might’ve ever met. She treated the opportunity to be honest with someone as the rare experience it proved to be in their line of work. He had grown to love that about her too.

“You are barmy,” he replied directly, “absolutely mad. There’s no other explanation for such conclusions.” Surprised by his response, she swallowed the cocktail and returned the glass to the small table between them. “You don’t think my shoulders are beginning to look a bit masculine?” She flexed them, looking down as her expression soured at the sight.  
“I think you are quite fetching, since you asked,” James said flatly as he signaled to the waitress to refresh their drink order, “but wouldn’t a fellow lady friend be the best source of such advice?”  
“I don’t have any lady friends,” Sophie replied simply. She lifted her glass, finishing it as the waitress returned with the new drinks and accepting the glass directly from her. Sophie smiled, shifting her focus to the illumination coming from the fireplace, which was decorated for Christmas. “I bet it is frigid outside,” she remarked, “Makes me want to check in and stay here.”

Lancelot raised his eyebrows, momentarily impressed with the idea as her focus remained on the flickering candlelight. Churchill’s was as bustling as always, but the crowd did seem quieter than normal for the season. “It is blustery,” he agreed, “what say we order a bit of caviar and keep the snug here for a bit? That way you are close should you decide to check in after all.”  
Sophie’s shoulders dropped in capitulation as she sighed, “Yes James. That sounds wonderful.”   
She rolled her neck, drawing her focus from the display and flashing him a warm smile that made him blush despite himself. “My treat,” he replied, standing and walking to the bar to arrange the order as she wrapped her shawl over her shoulders and enjoyed another sip of martini. James watched her from the bar. With Harry on his mission, he knew this might be another Christmas she spent alone and he enjoyed the rare opportunity to spend time with her.

“Have you gotten all your holiday shopping completed?” James asked as he took his seat. Sophie thought for a moment, realizing she didn’t actually know. “You know, I’m not sure,” she admitted, “I don’t really do my own shopping. I have a personal shopping service who does most of it.” Sophie waved slowly at the air with one hand as she held her glass with the other, “it’s far easier for me, being away so often. One wouldn’t wish to overlook anyone.” James nodded understandably, knowing she was often away. “That’s clever,” he replied, “but certainly you enjoy doing some shopping yourself. Even if only personal shopping, fashion and such.”  
This reminded Sophie, sending her into stifled laughter between them at the table. “Not anymore,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper, “do you know about Paris?” James shook his head curiously as Sophie leaned in and glanced around the bar subtly.

“Well,” she explained softly, “there I was, walking along the Champs-Elysées minding my own business when my glasses sync and begin wildly broadcasting this communication into my ear.” James leans in as she continues, “Bedivere is trying to reach Galahad, while it would seem he is in a full-fledged pursuit of his target. With other people chasing him it would seem.” Sophie sipped her martini, giggling to herself momentarily though James could not yet make the connection. “What made your glasses sync? I don’t understand.” he asked, mildly confused.  
“Oh,” Sophie shrugged in between sips, “that would be because moments later Bedivere ran past me. On the street. Followed by several men.” Sophie sighed, “I just wanted to go to Tiffany & Co. I have terrible luck with shopping, so now I just leave it to professionals.” She shrugged as James smiled, trying to imagine the scenario. “When was this?” he asked her with a dry laugh.

“It was in ‘96,” she replied, “I just dropped my bags and found a car to wire. I ended up collecting both he and Galahad. The entire thing turned into this mad car chase - all on my day off.” She shook her head, a fleeting annoyance in her expression as she stared off and remembered it. James simply watched her, passing the time as their caviar arrived and the waiter cleared the small table. As he leaned in to examine the selection of garnishes, Sophie sat up and tapped her glasses. James watched as her eyes softened and a warm smile conquered her face, and he knew only one thing could be responsible for such a response.   
“Is that word from Harry?” he asked innocently.  
“He’s just back,” Sophie effused, “just in time for Christmas.”   
“You should invite him for a drink,” James suggested, “We aren’t far, and I’ll leave you to it.”

“No don’t,” Sophie replied, grasping his hand as it rested on his knee. She flashed his a kind smile as she added, “Harry would love to see you. Stay. I’ll ask if he’d like to have a drink with us both.” James nodded in agreement, helping himself to a bit of caviar as Sophie sent the invite discreetly through her glasses. He arrived, shaking out his overcoat as he stepped into the warm bar and approached them. His handshake was simple and businesslike as he greeted Sophie and then James, who stood to take the next round. “Bourbon, Harry?” he asked as Harry took a seat. When he nodded, James turned to Sophie and asked, “And as for Sir Sterling Moss? The same?” He took her fit of soft giggles as an affirmative, walking away to place the order and leave them alone for a moment. Sophie crossed her legs, subtly brushing Harry’s ankle. “Harry,” she said simply, looking out at nothing in particular.

“Canary,” Harry responded in kind.   
“Good thing you called when you did,” she commented, “ I didn’t want to brave the night air all the way to Fulham. I almost took a room here.” She glanced as Harry gratefully as he replied,   
“I know of a better one. Far more accommodating.” He smiled meekly as she blushed, watching as James waited at the bar before rejoining them.   
“I’m so very glad you’re here,” Sophie hushed, not looking at him.   
“You seem in good company,” Harry replied, his tone light as he mocked platonic conversation. “What do you mean by that?” Sophie replied playfully, “You and James are friends.”   
“Yes we are,” Harry said simply. He refrained from further comment, a tactic that might’ve prevailed had his beloved not spent the evening enjoying her gin in volume. 

She turned, staring at him in a silent bid for further explanation. Harry acknowledged her deep stare, shifting to focus on her in kind. “He fancies you,” Harry said flatly. Sophie blinked several times, puzzled by the statement before scoffing.   
“He does not,” she refuted, leaning forward to take a bit of caviar, “honestly, Harry.”   
“Honestly,” Harry replied, “he looks at you in a way that gives him away completely.”   
“You think that of everyone my dearest,” Sophie countered, “not everyone thinks I’m beautiful.”   
“I think it of many, Canary,” he answered, “I know it of James Spencer.”  
Sophie chewed her blini, unsure of what to say but not really believing it. Harry’s affection for her could transcend reason, which Sophie knew all too well. James was merely a friend.  
“Know what of James Spencer?” Lancelot asked, returning to the table.  
“That he’s wonderful company,” Sophie answered cheerfully, raising her glass to him.

 

Sophie rubbed her midsection for warmth, remembering that night. It seemed they were often arriving in the eleventh hour, just in time to claim a few moments together on the important days. But she was certain Harry was being silly, James was merely a good friend to them both. Nothing more. As she dismissed the thought, her feed finally uploaded the full message from HQ, allowing her to read her updated orders. Expecting her extraction plan, she eagerly read the brief: 

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-221205  
Supplemental - Notated by Arthur

North Korea has announced intentions to resume building nuclear reactors in response to the US pulling out of key negotiations. Case redesignated ACTIVE/ONGOING.   
Agent to remain in secure location UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE to maintain ally relations and continue the work of destabilizing the construction and operation effort. 

More information to follow after the holidays. 

End of line.

 

Sophie stared at the screen, her eyes trailing over and over again at the single phrase, ‘UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.’ She was to remain, missing Christmas with her beloved, and for however longer was deemed necessary by HQ. Sophie felt a bit numb - unsure exactly what to do at that moment, and merely typed, “Affirmative. Order received.” The news to remain had come like a cold morning destroying a wonderful dream in a warm bed, and as Sophie walked over to her cot she realized she needn’t hide her disappointment. There was no one else there.   
Harry sat at his desk in his flat at Stanhope Mews, reading the orders that just posted on his laptop. He wondered how she was handling the news, knowing she wanted very much to be home for their first Christmas as a married couple. He smiled as he thought of how much these things mattered to her, only to have that smile fade as he considered her disappointment.

He turned his martini glass slowly in his hand, rolling the stem between his fingers as he sighed. He had no idea how long ‘until further notice’ was supposed to be, but he wasn’t betting on it being a short extension. He had been following all of the intel as it arrived, looking for something - a glimmer of hope that the tide might be turning in the region yet nothing seemed to materialize. Now he sat, days before Christmas, knowing his wife was in the cold ground some five thousand miles away and all humour over the holiday seemed lost on him. Harry removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes and trying not to indulge his gloom. Feeling badly served no purpose.   
There had to be some way to get a message to her without anyone being the wiser. Even a few words would mean the world to his beloved if they were his. _Under the cold, dark earth_ , he thought, lowering his fingers from his eyes and sighing aloud. Where he couldn’t reach her.

Grasping his martini glass, Harry stood and left his office. He turned at the staircase, stepping lightly down the staircase and onward to the kitchen to wash the glass. He thought of Sophie and the last time she were in this space as he turned the glass, drying it in his dishcloth. _What could I do from here?_ he pondered. Harry rested the glass on the counter, and stared at his pantry for a few moments of lost thought. He then tossed the dishcloth onto the counter in defeat and paced back up the stairs to his sitting room, taking a seat before his elegantly decorated Christmas tree. The house was so quiet that Harry began to wonder if it too was aching from the loss. Sophie filled the space with such happiness that without her the walls almost pulled in from the void. He looked at the floor at the foot of the fireplace, remembering their last Christmas together and with a final sorrowful sigh decided to retire for the night.

He knew the time difference, and had adjusted his schedule slightly so that he went to bed most nights knowing she was doing the same. It wasn’t much, and there was no way for her to know it, but as he lay down he felt a little closer to her. He kicked away the duvet, wondering how cold the bunker was and if she were sleeping soundly. He knew she was a professional and could handle herself in any situation, but being Kingsman didn’t make her indomitable and in his heart he knew there would never be a time that he didn’t worry over his most beloved wife. He rolled to his side, setting his mind to heading into HQ in the morning and getting a better explanation as to the long term goals of this mission. Maybe Merlin or Edwin could help him get some word to her, just to let her know that this mission change had been felt by both. He needed to hold her, kiss her, hear her voice, but he would settle for ensuring she knew of his longing. 

 

She could have unpacked her equipment, or recounted her supplies so she knew to call in for new ones, but Sophie instead flopped onto the bed, pulled the thermal blanket up over her shoulders and rolled over on the cot. There she stared at the cement wall and hoped this were only a minor stalling, and that she would be home in another few months. _Soon I will be home_ , she reasoned. _Soon._  
She thought of Harry, hoping he had retired to bed before the orders had come in. A chuckle lodged itself in her throat as she imagined those discontented sighs as he read the orders. He would not be pleased, and knowing that did seem to make the medicine go down a bit smoother. This made Sophie think of mulled wine, and all at once the reality that she wasn’t going home hit her. She wiped the tears forming in her eyes and turned off the light, crying silently in the dark. 

 

“Edwin?” Harry asked, stopping as he passed the lab, “What are you doing here?”  
Edwin quickly chewed and swallowed the sandwich he taken a bite of as Harry passed by. “I’m always here,” he answered honestly. Harry stopped, taking his point as Edwin stood, setting his sandwich down and awaiting further word from Galahad. After a few moments, Harry realized this and gave a subtle wave to dismiss him back to his meal. Harry turned, leaving the lab in search of information from the Office of Grail Pursuit while Edwin finished and followed with a cup of tea. He was hard at work on calculations when Harry returned, and dropped his pencil onto the desk as he stood to greet the Agent. “How are our field MREs prepared?” Harry asked curiously, “Is that something we send out for or do we produce them ourselves?” Harry tried to ask in a way that suggested general interest, and it was an approach Edwin could not resist. 

“What a great question, Sir,” Edwin began, clearing his throat, “We actually produce those at our own facility within the Blaenafon facility. All in-house.”  
“Wales?” Harry asked, his turning over the information in his head as he studied the folder in his hands.  
“Yes sir,” Edwin explained, “If you are in need of anything, I could gladly order them for you. In fact, I have a selection menu around here someplace.” Edwin turned, looking through a selection of binders on a shelf near his desk before producing the list. “I haven’t read a drop order for you,” Edwin inquired, “Is this for a specific trip?”  
“Um...no,” Harry muttered as he studied the form, “more of a formality. A curiosity you might say. I was wondering if you could have one custom-ordered perhaps. Dietary restrictions.”

“Oh,” Edwin responded, “well, we do try. Guinevere gives fantastic feedback on this. Always so positive. She would be the expert - I don’t think any agent has eaten more of them than she.”   
“Is that so?” Harry answered, trying to sound only somewhat interested. He surveyed the list Edwin handed him, immediately seeing four meals Sophie loathed. This made him smile, as he was certain she hadn’t uttered a word against anything Edwin had packed for her.   
“May I keep this?” Harry asked, showing the list to Edwin as he asked.  
“Oh sure,” Edwin said, “I’m sure there’s another in the binder. If there’s anything I can help with, please let me know. Merlin oversees production in that location, so I’m certain he could assist with any special dietary concern. Is there anything else I can do for you, Galahad?”  
“No. Um, yes,” Harry called as he left, “don’t work too hard. It is Christmas, you know.” 

Harry threw a glance to Edwin, but his gait had already picked up as it carried him away from the lab. Hearing Merlin oversaw that plant was the best possible news. He reached Sophie’s office, closing the door behind him as he tapped his glasses. “Call Merlin,” he ordered, waiting for the call to connect. He paced in a small circle inside the dimly lit, dusty space until he heard the line.   
“Galahad?” Merlin asked, stepping outside his family home in Scotland.   
“You oversee the production of all of Guinevere’s MREs,” Harry asked, skipping all formalities to keep the call brief. He didn’t want to inconvenience the man any more than necessary.  
“Yes,” Merlin replied, “bit of a headache, truth be told. I cannae simply drop them as I did last time, so we have to devise a new method which is going to cause some delays.”  
“If I got something to you, could you perhaps get it into one of them?” Harry asked. 

 

“Something like what?” Merlin asked.  
“Something from home,” Harry offered, “Something to let her know we are thinking of her out there. She was supposed to be home and now I’m not sure when that will happen.”  
Merlin looked through the glass of the door he just exited, watching his nieces and nephews play as he considered Harry’s request.   
“It couldn’t be something traceable,” Merlin advised, “in case it is recovered. We don’t want her compromised while out there.”  
“Of course,” Harry agreed, “Perhaps something simple. Something only she will recognize.”  
Merlin thought on this for a few moments before agreeing, “I’ll meet with you after the holiday. We can arrange it then. Don’t worry, Harry. She’s well.”

“I know that,” Harry replied, “Very good. I’ll leave you back to enjoy your holiday. Happy Christmas Hamish, and thank you very much.”  
Merlin nodded, waving to people inside as he replied, “The very same to you, Harry. Talk soon.”  
Harry ended the call, removing his glasses and standing there as he tried to think of anything else he had to do now. Without Sophie, his most anticipated plans seemed fruitless. Feeling a low he hadn’t felt in recent memory, he left the office and ascended the stairs to the storefront before unlocking the door to let himself out. He stood on the sidewalk - not wishing to be home but not wishing to be in a pub either. A slight smile found him as he hailed a black cab and climbed inside. “Upton House, please,” he requested, “Kent.”   
The cab pulled away, with Harry hoping a surprise visit would lift his spirits as well as mother’s. 

 

Sophie opened her eyes, rolling in the cozy down duvet that lay on the floor in front of Harry’s fireplace. She smiled as she heard his steps coming up the stairs to her. “Did I wake you?” he asked gingerly. She sniffed, shaking her head sleepily. “You are so handsome,” she cooed, gazing up at him, “already up and prepared for the day while I lay here useless.”   
“I wanted to visit the shops before they were too crowded,” he explained, “you were sleeping so soundly that I didn’t want to disturb you.” He dropped to a knee as she lifted, rubbing his freshly shaved cheek against hers before kissing her neck softly. She held his shoulders, inhaling the mixture of his shaving cream and cologne and sighing blissfully. “I like this spot,” she flirted, “we should camp more often.” He parted from her, caressing her cheek as he looked into her eyes.  
“Happy Christmas my love,” she whispered, pulling his hand to her inner thigh.

“This isn’t how it went,” Harry chided playfully, drawing his fingers up her thigh.   
“I know,” Sophie pleaded, “but indulge me. I miss you so.”  
“Of course,” Harry agreed, “whatever you like, pet.”   
Sophie reclined, pulling Harry with her as his fingers slipped up and began gently stroking her. Sophie gripped the crisp cotton of his blue shirt, trying to focus on every detail of this memory only to have them ring false. Sophie kept her eyes clenched, trying to commit completely to this fantasy if for only a few desperate moments. She moaned softly, stroking herself as she attempted to remember that last Christmas morning they spent together. “Come for me, Canary. Know that I am just as you imagine me: here in the flat, missing you too.”   
Sophie stopped, opening her eyes in failure. _Why can’t I imagine his words? He’s my husband. Gordon Bennett._

Sophie huffed, slowly rubbing her temples with her hands as she looked up in the bunker. She rolled on her side, looking at the crude illustration of Harry’s elegant Victorian tree that she sketched and filled in from her eyeshadow compact. She did know he was missing her, but that thought only made her feel worse. There was no work for her today, as she reconnected with her informants but explained that the work could continue after Christmas day. They seemed to understand, and she knew that in tiny groups, North Koreans were risking hard labour to meet in fleeting moments of silent prayer all over the countryside. She was humbled by this, trying to keep her loneliness in perspective as she sat up on her cot. Rising to make a cup of tea, she noted the small blinking light indicating a drop in the designated space. She pondered what it could be as she climbed into her tactical gear and loaded her pistol before leaving to check. 

Carefully leaving in the darkness, Sophie walked cautiously to the drop point and lifted the stone from the base of the tree. There, hidden within the snow, was a single candle tied with a scrap of fabric. Sophie looked around, incredibly touched by the token of affection left for her. She quickly tucked it into her suit, zipped it up and made her way back to the cabin. Once inside, she secured the entrance and triggered the release before making her way back into the bunker. Once locked inside, she removed the small white candle from her suit and set it onto the table. Years of Kingsman training had taught her to be skeptical, and she ran the wax through the analyzer with a sinking feeling inside about her doubt before the wash of relief when it scanned as simple paraffin. She left it on the crude table in the center of the bunker before checking the pantry for a tea bag to prep her cup. Her supplies seemed sufficient, if lacking a feast for the day.

She sat on the cot, trying to stay warm as she wondered who might’ve left the gift for her under the tree. Every drop brought the risk of possible discovery, and this gesture wasn’t merely a thoughtful but also a dangerous one. Sipping her tea, she thought of each of them; then Edwin, James, Hislop, and even Arthur. She wondered what everyone would do as the day found London. She turned, running her fingertips over her illustration as she finished her tea and saved the bag for a hopeful second steep. Walking over to the table, she collected the candle and turned her metal cup over to rest it on the underside to light it beside the cot. It flickered, slow to catch fully in the cold and Sophie stared at it as the flame grew and served to offer its warmth. She knew then that she loved the person that had given it to her, even if she didn’t know who that person was. She felt more connected to this mission than she had ever before. 

“I don’t know why,” she prayed, “I don’t know why these people have to live like this, enduring such cruelty and bondage. I don’t know if what I’m doing is helping, or if anything any of us can do makes a difference, but I am trying Lord. Though I selfishly long to be in the comfort of my home, with my husband, please know that I am trying to fulfill my purpose in this life. Please know that I meet these challenges with my face turned to You as in all things, with gratitude for my many blessings. I promise that I will remain devoted to the pursuit of what is rightful to my last breath. I promise, and on this most holy day I ask only that you please keep those in my heart close to You. For if they are safe, I want for nothing in my life.” Sophie sniffed, wiping her eyes as she continued watching the dancing flame of the small candle, “Thank you for my many many blessings, and please continue to show me the path - especially when I falter, Lord.”

As Sophie concluded her prayer, tucking herself under the thermal blanket on the cot to watch the candle continue to burn, a memory so clear and complete came to her that it felt as though God cleared his throat. Sophie closed her eyes, remembering Harry dancing with her by the light of the tree their last Christmas evening. “Such a sad melody,” Harry remarked, his warm hand enveloping hers as she snuggled close to him. Sophie pressed her cheek to his broad chest, in a giddy haze from the day’s libation. “I know,” Sophie said softly, “it’s lovely though.” Harry kissed her temple as she softly sang to him, “Carols everywhere...Olden times and ancient rhymes, of love and dreams to share...” As she faded to a low hum, Harry turned her in the sitting room, slowly dancing in place as he held her close. “Oh my love,” Harry cooed, “how dear you are to me.”

Sophie opened her eyes, her smile intense and all thought of tears erased. She was loved, deeply and she was happy. Just as she was about to thank God for the lovely, still moment there was a sound overhead. Sophie didn’t move - her eyes trailing up as she began to actively listen for the source of the sound. _Was it a rumbling of pipes in the cold? Creaking in the foundation perhaps, or an errant animal?_   
As she listened, there was another, louder noise, and Sophie looked up as her smile faded. She reached over silently, grasping her pistol and turning off the light before grasping her glasses. Setting the night vision, she blew out the candle and waited in the dark for the threat to either present itself, or pass.


	4. Shortages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie gets an unexpected visitor while the Kingsman try to solve a problem of supply and demand.

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-080206

Agent requesting any information concerning necessary field provisions as agent is without ANY supplies for the second week. As a result, Agent has restricted all physical activity and is observing field readiness training. Please advise of any and all plans ASAP concerning delivery of any resources as need is becoming dire.

End of line.

 

Sophie finished the communication, pressing send before she left the console. She walked over to her pantry, taking careful stock of the remaining supplies in her possession. She was spacing actual meals out to every few days, supplementing with whatever she could forage in the woods around the cabin. She was certain if she rested as much as possible and stayed vigilant, she would come through this period until Kingsman got more supplies to her. She took several vitamin capsules from the large bottle before unclipping a used tea bag from the twine drying line she ran across the shelf. Hopefully she could get one more steep from it before the bag had to serve some other purpose. Sophie pumped some water from the small well, placing it into the compact kettle as she placed the bag into her metal cup. Many days she could make do with a simple cup of hot water on a cold day, but the tea had become a treat on the more difficult ones. 

After a long steep, Sophie squeezed the bag before dropping it back into the cup with a shrug and taking a sip. She leaned against the table, looking at the supply shelf and sighing. She knew she should go out for another night of foraging but simply could not motivate herself to face the cold. Kingsman reported that talks were being planned with North Korea to curb their nuclear program, but Sophie knew that was nonsense. The North Korean government was stockpiling plutonium faster than she could synthesize the destabilizing agent. Sophie stared at the wall as she sipped her tea, wondering what the next phase to this mission would be. The metal cup was warm in her hands, and the fog from undereating had passed into a pleasant sort of preoccupation as she paced around the small room awaiting some word from Kingsman HQ. There was little else she could do but keep to her few activities and wait for further information.

She shivered, emptying the cup as she resigned herself to bed for the day. By spending more time in the cot she conserved energy and resources, making the cold nights a bit easier to pass. Tomorrow she would venture out, checking drop sites and doing a bit of foraging no matter how she felt, but tonight she would lay in bed and let her mind drift to music, tasks done and neglected, and of course Harry. In normal circumstances she might chide herself for being one of those girls with only her husband on her mind; but in this underground bunker thousands of miles from her beloved, where death was an everyday possibility…  
Eh, she’ll let this bit of self-criticism slide for the time being.  
Sophie noted the time before tucking under the thermal blanket and rolling onto her side. She felt the cold metal of her gun under the pillow as she switched off the light and faced the door.

At this hour, she figured Harry had already eaten and was passing the evening in his sitting room reading or working with his butterflies. That thought made her smile, imagining the beautiful wing patterns as he gingerly mounted them to their frame from his workspace. She tried to imagine the vivid colors as she stared into the darkness of the bunker, letting her mind float as she drifted into a light sleep, dreaming of Harry’s warm flat and everything she missed about home. Her mind swirled with images of inside Joseph of Arimathea church, Kensington Park, and the tailor shop on Saville Row before returning to the beautiful stillness of Harry’s bedroom. There, she dreamed of her ever-present cup of chamomile tea, the softness of his fine linens, the lingering waft of his shaving cream as it migrated from his bathroom, and there she ached for him - like an echo. He was smoke, trapped after the fire had long faded in the hearth. 

 

Harry was not at home, but was in fact deep underground at Kingsman HQ to meet with Merlin concerning Sophie’s shipment. He sat silent during the day’s progress meeting, listening as his fellow agents reported their status without incident only to see Arthur make no mention of Sophie’s mission at all. He wasn’t sure exactly what he expected, but left the meeting determined to come to some course of action with Merlin that evening - even if it meant delivering the goods himself. He knew Sophie was a resourceful agent, but by his calculation her supplies had been completely depleted for an entire week at this point. Either they formed a plan soon or he was going to make the case for her extraction. He walked down the quiet corridor, making his way to Merlin’s workspace to meet him now that everyone had left for the day. He found him standing outside the armory, taking stock of the inventory to pass the time. 

“Merlin,” Harry greeted, standing beside him as Merlin checked his clipboard. Merlin looked up, lowering the pages on the clipboard before leading Harry back through the stockroom. “Have you seen the mission updates?” Harry asked, trying to keep his concern subtle by looking around at the shelves of explosives and ammunition. Merlin paused a beat, considering how to explain the current situation without sounding hopeless. “I have,” he began, “and I have compiled a master list of essentials for Agent Guinevere, but getting those to a safe drop point is proving more difficult that we had anticipated. The last shipment was dropped in a relatively remote location, but with Guinevere’s intel concerning the redoubled efforts at building a plant there I fear the area is entirely too populated to make a subsequent drop safely.” Merlin sighed, frustrated and not wanting to look at Harry lest he possibly give away the thoroughness of this gridlock. 

“Then we must begin preparing an extraction at once,” Harry countered, “if we cannot get anything to Guinevere then she must be brought home.”  
“It’s not that simple,” Merlin answered, “there are risks to an extraction as well.”  
Harry stared at him, unsure what to say. He knew that any risk of exposing the mission could have international ramifications, so he tried to weigh this against his desire to board a plane bound for his wife that very second. Following rules wasn’t always Harry Hart’s cup of tea.  
“Harry,” Merlin called, interrupting his thoughts, “we will find an answer. Until we do, we must keep her spirits high and trust that Guinevere will continue the mission to the fullest of her capabilities. Arthur has ruled out an extraction - she must remain onsite, and we must solve this problem here.” Harry grimaced, understanding the reality but not wanting to face it. 

Harry reluctantly nodded, handing a glass jar to Merlin, who accepted it with mild confusion. “When we get the shipment to Guinevere,” Harry requested, clearing his throat, “if you could include this somehow.” Merlin examined the jar, nodding in agreement. “I will Harry.”  
“Thank you Merlin,” Harry responded, turning to leave him. He felt powerless, and found himself wondering if he’d be able to focus on his own work during this small crisis. He told himself that Sophie is a brilliant, resourceful agent, but he was angry that Kingsman seemed so capable of failing a fellow agent in this way. He was reminded of his time in the Army, and then he considered the times he faced shortages in the field. _Was it fair of him to consider Sophie in this way?_ He wondered. At home, she was his wife, but this was different. In the field she was, as she must remain, Agent Guinevere of Kingsman. She was simply, a colleague. 

 

Sophie threw her head back, bucking against the ice cold water in the basin as she splashed her face. She was most definitely awake now. Blowing the dripping water away from the end of her nose, Sophie reached for her small towel to dry her face and hands before switching the kettle on for a nice hot cup of water. No tea today, but the heat was welcome as she held the cup and prepared to face the cold night outside the bunker. She checked the calendar - February 13, which by her notes should be a full moon. This was good, and her supplies were nearly completely spent and she was hoping to forage for anything that could sustain her while she continued to wait for work from HQ. It was been five days without word, but Sophie assured herself that people were hard at work. Merlin and Edwin would not leave her behind. 

Sophie zipped up her coat, grabbed her bag and prepared to head out with her glasses to search. The bunker wasn’t much warmer than outside, but there was a remarkable difference with each gust of wind, which cut through even the tactical coat and chilled Sophie to her bones. Sophie shivered, glancing up at her scalp. Her hair was a lot warmer than she realized, but there are no salons in Hell. Finding her tangled scalp ceaselessly amusing, Sophie pushed away from the outer wall of the building and began walking into the forest to look for food. It was an incredibly clear night, cold but still; and in the absence of ground lighting the stars stretched out brilliantly in all directions above her. As she stooped alongside the base of a tree to pick the chanterelles growing there, Sophie gazed up through the canopy and took in the calm. _Things were not so bad,_ she thought, _everything will be alright._

Sophie was always careful to leave a portion of what she found, not wanting locals to be at a loss for her company. Luckily, kudzu plants could grow a foot every day, creating plenty of leafy greens for her to eat without worry of taking it from anyone else. Sophie opened her pocket knife, cutting long pieces of the kudzu and packing them into her bag as she felt along the ground for nuts that might’ve fallen from the trees. She hadn’t resorted to eating insects yet, and she was sincerely hoping it would not come to that. With it being such a clear night, Sophie carefully ventured down to the beach to check the traps she had set there. Sophie had to cover her mouth to contain her glee as she peered down and discovered a small cash of sardines within her trap. She stepped down into the water to scoop the clear plastic caging she fashioned and scoop the sardines from inside before adding them to her take and replacing the trap. 

Now soaked below the knee, she knew she needed to quickly check the drops on her way back to the bunker before her body temperature dropped too significantly. She carefully made her way in the dark, trusting her night vision as she passed the drop sites on her way back to the building. Once inside, she tried to calm her shaking as she unlocked the trap door and lifted the floor to return to the safety of her bunker. Pulling it into place, she removed the glasses and entered the bunker, bolting herself inside before she stripped her wet clothes and rushed to the thermal bedding to warm herself. As her trembling subsided and the feeling returned to her fingers and feet, Sophie pulled herself from the warm bed to switch on the kettle and collect some scrap foil for cooking. The kudzu and mushrooms could be stored and dried on her line, but the sardines required immediate consumption. 

As she wrapped them in the foil with a bit of salt, she tucked them over the induction vent of the incinerator and hoped it would prove hot enough to cook the sardines while she dressed in warm, dry clothes. Though there had been no advancement of the mission and she had nothing to report, Sophie was fantastically hopeful as she smelled her dinner cooking and warmed up with another cup of warm water. Some days just surviving is enough. She checked the console for any word while she was away, and finding none, left it to take her sardines to the cot and enjoy them in silence. She dreamed of Harry’s terrific spreads and grand flourishes, laughing softly at her terrible cooking as she consumed the fish and saved the foil to be washed and reused if possible. With her drops checked, her communication acknowledged, and her appetite now satiated, Sophie decided to rest and conserve as much energy as she could in this quiet.

 

Arthur dropped the case folder onto the table, dissatisfied. “This is simply unacceptable,” he huffed, “we need solutions gentlemen.” Both Merlin and Edwin sat up, fidgeting uncomfortably as the boss left his seat and paced. “Well,” Edwin offered, “we have an unusual set of parameters ahead of us. We need to get items to Guinevere while not blowing her cover and not compromising our identities in the process. There could be serious complications if her supplies are intercepted.” Arthur held his hands behind his back, turning the information silently for several moments. Edwin looked to Merlin, a look of bewilderment in his eyes as the waited for Arthur to come to a conclusion. “Guinevere is perfectly positioned to take that plant off the map if the arranged negotiations in April fail...and that’s too important and delicate a scenario to upset,” Arthur mumbled, ruminating aloud, “unless we absolutely have to.” 

Lancelot entered, folder in hand, but stopped just inside as he noticed Arthur’s expression. Merlin looked back at Lancelot, who screwed up his face slyly as Arthur placed his fists upon the desk. “I don’t care if you have to use weather balloons, drones, or stand from a boat throwing picnic hampers one at a time,” Arthur demanded, “Get it done, gentleman - and fast!”  
Arthur took his seat, returning to his notes and signalling that the meeting with Edwin and Merlin had ended. Merlin took the cue immediately, rising and leaving the dining room and walking quickly down to the transport to the lab. There they looked out over the containers, trying to figure out getting supplies to their desperate Agent. Merlin tapped the table idly as he pondered, “Drones…” he muttered, “Edwin, what if we made them smaller?”  
“Smaller?” Edwin asked, his eyes trailing, “It could be done, in fact I’m sure we could....”

Edwin surveyed the collection of things, tilting his head as if listening to the instruction of a third party that only he could hear. Merlin was used to Edwin’s unique genius, and gave him space as he sorted the goods and food into small bundles. He also slipped a plain, unmarked silver package in with the stacks nonchalantly as Edwin returned with several strips of waterproof fabric from the umbrella line. Laying them out, he quickly ran a French seam through it before lifting it and forming a triangular base. “If we…” Edwin reasoned aloud, lifting the sides it form tiny walls, “but we won’t have much space.” Edwin looked to Merlin for advice, who immediately opened his pen and began testing how much of the packaging could be trimmed away to maximize the space. “Some formulas simply won’t work,” Merlin said, “But if we readjust the order for cold foods only, and remove most of the washbag bottles it could work.” 

Edwin smacked his forehead, “Oh course! Let’s go to the powders on all the personal sundries. With those changes, plus a new run of cold only foods with absolutely minimal packaging, we should be able to get nearly a weeks’ supply in this small pouch.” He tucked the fabric over the top, forming what appeared to be a pouch roughly the side of a hat. Merlin smiled as he looked at it, “Six to ten of these could be connected on a line and sent directly to the anchor point. That would supply Guinevere until we can form a more long term solution for her.”  
Edwin bit his lip, bemused. “Well, I’ll want to test a few things, and ensure this crude prototype withstands the elements and doesn’t attract attention or animals,” Edwin grabbed his clipboard and began scribbling into it, “We want this to be in perfect working order for Guinevere before we send it.” Merlin stopped him, “Maybe the next batch,” he advised, “she can’t wait, Edwin.”

“Not out there with nothing,” Edwin agreed, “I’m sorry, Merlin.”  
Edwin looked crestfallen, and Merlin rested a hand on his shoulder in comfort. Nodding his gratitude, Edwin shook it off, lifted his shoulder and looked into Merlin’s eyes. “I’ll get to work on these,” he offered, “you head to the production line and have the packages altered to fit. Can you also acquire the powder kits?” Merlin nodded as Edwin immediately turned back to his sewing and got hard to work trying to produce a strong waterproof pouch. It was not an ideal way to reach an agent when protocol usually allowed for bulk drops of month’s worth of supplies, yet he was determined to get the needed supplies to Guinevere however needs must. She was not only depending on him to do her job as an Agent, but Guinevere had always been friendly and kind to Edwin, and he rather liked to think of her as a friend. He simply could not let her down.

 

Sophie groaned slightly, stretching as she lifted her hair away from her scalp and sheared it away. Each strand fell away, forming a small pile at her feet as she moved on to the next section. Once she trimmed the length away, Sophie stopped in front of the basin and briefly examined her reflection in the side of the device which incinerated her refuse. There was no adequate soap left for her hair, and it began to clump together and keep its oil. It only made sense to lop it all off - and yet there was a sadness it this, as though Sophie could not pretend this mission was not changing her. She ran her hand across her partially shaved head - laughing dryly at her first casualty to this mission. “What on Earth is your husband going to say when he finds you like this?” her mother inquired, returning to her needlepoint as she sat at the end of the bed.  
Sophie took a deep breath, bending down to the basin to splash her face and moisten her hair before she shaved the last of it away. “He will think,” she replied aloud, “thank goodness you’re home.”

Of course, Agatha Hollander was not really there, but knowing she was most likely still in a cemetery in Fulham made her neither less present nor less vocal. She clicked her tongue audibly as she raised her eyebrows, but failed to look up from her needlepoint. The disapproval was palpable. Sophie lifted from the ice cold basin, shaking off a shiver in her sleeveless undershirt as she prepared her razor to finish her job. “He must be a very understanding man, supporting this sort of profession.” Agatha responded. Sophie’s eye trialed over to her as she drew the blade along her scalp. “He understands what we do, and supports me without reservation.” She shook the blade in the basin, looking forward in the silence of the bunker.  
“That’s right,” she replied sarcastically, “you’re both **spies** , aren’t you? Running around everyplace, saving the world. Wasting your university education...”

Sophie dropped her shoulder, rolling her eyes at the remark. She had no idea why the negative voice buzzing about her mind decided to start appearing as her mother, but if it was meant to be cutting it was working. “I would’ve imagined you and dad would be understanding of what I do…” she replied as she toweled her head, “perhaps even proud.” Sophie covered her face, rubbing her scalp vigorously to dry and warm it. “I would have thought you’d be a mother by now.” the voice responded, stopping Sophie in her tracks. She didn’t even know why that hurt so badly.  
“Mum!” Sophie scowled simply, pulling the towel from her head and tossing at the bed. There is sailed, falling across the empty space in damp ribbons as Sophie remained in place, alone. She stood silent for several moments, both relieved and sad to return to the solitude. “I’m late,” she dismissed, turning to grab her holster and trying to shake mother’s comment from her mind.

She had stopped requesting any help from Kingsman HQ. Either they were working or they were on the way, but repeated reminders seemed only to make everyone a bit sad. There was no point in that. Sophie slipped into her holster, grasping her overcoat before she absentmindedly rubbed her head and looked around the empty bunker. She had a flashing indicator: someone had left a drop for her. She fastened each button, her mind torn between hoping she saw mother again and the conflict from this bitter incarnation that seemed to be. Her mother had never been cruel in her recollection, ever. Yet, here she was.  
Is there any feeling more lonely than thinking your own mother doesn’t like you?  
Sophie switched off the flashing indicator and left the bunker, making her way in the dark to the drop site. She loosened the rock, feeling below it to lift the folded note and tuck it inside her coat.

“It’s quite scary out here!” her mother exclaimed, startling her in the silence. Sophie shook her head, dismissing her remark as she carefully replaced the stone. With the message secured, she carefully stood and looked around before making her start back to the bunker. She had some trimmed kudzu, and did not like the feeling she got being in the open. “I should have known you’d turn out this way,” Agatha lamented, “first all that glam rock, then the fencing. Your father thought it built character but a lady has no place being so aggressive.” Sophie stopped, cutting an eye to her when she heard something in the darkness. Carefully backing against a tree, Sophie slid her hand along her coat to the buttons and opened it to reach in for her pistol. She remained absolutely silent as the man walked through the brush behind her, slowly moving past her and continuing beyond into the distance. She then released a deep breath slowly to calm herself. 

“You are going to get yourself **killed** out here!” Agatha scolded in disbelief, “Is this what you do, all the time?” Sophie lifted from the tree, continuing away from her mother and back in the direction of the building slowly, looking in all directions to ensure she wasn’t being followed. She didn’t look back at the figment of her lonely imagination, making her way cautiously into the building securing herself inside. As she entered the bunker, turning to lock the structure down, she heard again, “Well? Is this what you do all the time?”  
“Sometimes,” Sophie answered as she removed her coat, “I shoot them.”  
Sophie did not wait for any sort of response, walking to the pantry to collect the kudzu and preparing to steep it with the kettle. Switching the kettle on, she tore the kudzu apart and dropped it into her metal cup before pouring the boiling water over it to cook the leaves. 

“I do this because I believe in it,” Sophie explained, “I don’t expect you to understand it.”  
Sophie turned back to her meal, sprinkling salt from her pantry over the steeped kudzu and trying to ignore the imagined judgement coming from her mother’s face. “Do you…” she asked quietly, “do you really disapprove of what I do?” Sophie caught herself asking the question, rolling her eyes before blinking in a long, exaggerated display of disappointment at her present situation. “You have absolutely no idea what I do,” she answered aloud, annoyed with herself.  
“From here it looks as though you’re preparing the back garden for your dinner.” Agatha answered succinctly. Sophie stopped, lowering the salt and placing in onto the table softly. She simply stared at the metal cup, numb from her mind’s desperate attempt to soothe her loneliness and the bitter direction it had taken. Her mother was not there - still it hurt. 

Sophie sat at the end of the cot, eating her simple dinner in silence. She lacked the energy to debate herself on this particular evening, so she resigned to eat and then study the intel she had retrieved instead. Once finished, she washed her utensils and replaced them before returning to her coat to retrieve the note left for her. She stood scanning the note, her face wrinkled when she heard her mother ask, “What? What is it, Sophie?”  
Her mother stood beside her as she answered without looking up, “This is an inventory. According to this, they’ve stockpiled enough plutonium to make nearly a dozen nuclear weapons. And they plan to make a weapon with it.”  
Sophie looked up from the paper, her eyes trailing as her thoughts caught up with her as she quickly crossed to the console and scanned the form in to update and send to HQ.

Her fingers flew in a flourish, hammering out the intel as the information came together in her mind. “This is what I do,” she whispered as she typed, “with this intel, we can negotiate a better outcome.” Sophie paused slightly, shrugging as she admitted, “Of course, in all likelihood I will end up having to take it off the map, but…”  
“Off the map?” Agatha asked, her voice modest, innocent in it’s inquiry.  
Sophie smiled, not looking away from her screen as she answered, “It means to destroy it. To blow it up. If there is no diplomatic way to compel peace, then I will ensure that no one is made victim by it by destroying it myself. That is what I do.”  
Sophie finished typing, sending the message with a sense of calming contentment at her work.  
“I see,” her mother said, “well done Poppet.”

Sophie blinked, looking up from the screen for her mother.  
She turned around, but Agatha was gone.


	5. The Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How important is real, really?
> 
> Lyrics featured in this story are from "Word on a Wing" by David Bowie

“The man is a fascist!” he argued, his voice ringing down the hall in frustration. Sophie held the straps of her overalls, confused by her father’s anger. She knew it was about her birthday gift, but did not know what the word ‘fascist’ meant.   
“The man is a pop musician, William,” her mother countered, “let’s not be dramatic.” Agatha Hollander looked up at him momentarily before returning to her needlepoint. She drew the needle through the linen, hoping that by ignoring William’s pacing it might end. When that tactic failed, she lowered her craft and glanced over her glasses to grant him the attention he was seeking. “It was a birthday gift,” she commented, “and she’s seven, William. She’s not going to follow Ziggy Starburst into a political movement. Aren’t you the one saying you want her to be an independent spirit? However is she to be independent if her choices can’t even upset you?” 

Sophie stood at the end of the hall, listening to the exchange and trying to understand what they were talking about. Joanie, her favorite babysitter, had given her the record for her birthday. Joanie was desperate for David Bowie, and the record made Sophie feel grown up. She looked at the glossy cover, with the strange black and white picture and felt impossibly cool. Now that record seemed to make her father excitable and angry, which confused Sophie. It was as though the owning it changed how Sophie appeared to him. She didn’t understand how that was possible, but she still wanted to keep it. Sophie briefly worried that keeping it might mean no more Saturday mornings in her father’s lap, practicing on his typewriter and listening to the metallic clanging of words finding the page. Surely he wasn’t that upset with her - Sophie couldn’t believe that. Not over the alien record. 

“Well?” Agatha pressed, disrupting the silence in which Sophie’s doubt had begun to take root, “Do you want Sophie to be just like you? You sound your father just now.” Agatha returned to her needlepoint, satisfied that she had pierced more than linen as William dropped into his leather chair. “I do **not** sound like my father,” he replied defensively.  
“Ehh, a bit,” Agatha playfully chided, looking over to him.   
Sophie could tell that the angry bit was over. Mother has won the day. She still didn’t understand what could have made her dad so mad about Joanie’s present, but it was obvious now that her mother had made her case and record could stay. Sophie was relieved when she heard from the office, “Sophie? Stop listening in the hall and come here.”  
Caught, she hugged her straps and walked sheepishly into her father’s office. 

Her mother didn’t look up as Sophie entered the office to answer her father, who sat in his armchair and looked back at her. “Well?” he asked, “What say you in this?”   
Sophie tugged at her straps until her mother chided, “Posture, young lady. Nice and straight.”   
Sitting up, Sophie dropped her hands to her side and answered, “I just like the record, Dad.”  
“I see,” William replied, patting his lap in invitation. As he lifted Sophie into his lap, he continued, “What do you like about it?” He raised his eyebrows, giving all his attention to his beloved daughter as she contemplated her answer. Sophie paused, wanting to sound smart with her answer, “It’s very mature, I think.”  
“Are you listening to it just because you think it makes you seem mature?” her father asked.  
“No,” Sophie answered carefully, “I like the music too. It’s very busy.”

William smiled at the simplicity of her answer. “See,” Agatha commented sarcastically, “clearly she’s off to join to National Front.” William looked to Agatha as she smugly returned to her needlepoint, bouncing Sophie lightly on his knee.   
“Dad,” Sophie asked curiously, “what’s a fascist?”  
Agatha huffed lightly but said nothing as William looked back to Sophie. “A fascist is someone who opposes our democratic way of life. They think a strong leader controlling everyone is better.”   
“Isn’t it good to be a leader?” Sophie asked, “Isn’t the Queen a strong leader?”  
“Well...yes,” William explained, “but we also have Parliament. We choose people to represent us and make laws. That way, everyone is considered. A fascist only considers the people he likes or agrees with, and that isn’t very fair.”

Agatha sat silently threading her needle, proud as she watched William explain to Sophie, who blinked a few times in hopeful comprehension. “ ‘Sophie, the most important thing we can do is fight injustice when we find it,” William said softly, “and fascists use injustice to stay powerful. That’s why we had to fight them in the war. A world that trades justice for safety is not a world worth living in.”   
“That’s why your grandfather fought in France, and your grandmother did her bit as well,” Agatha added simply, returning to her needlepoint. Sophie nodded slowly, recalling that her grandfather died in the war but not ever connecting anything to that fact before this conversation.   
“We must all do our bit to resist those ideas should the time come,” William said, not particularly to Sophie, “every one of us has something, and every one of us can save the world in our way.”

“I’m going to save the world someday,” Sophie proclaimed, “you’ll see.” She hopped down from her father’s lap and struck a pose. “If any fascists come here I’ll fight them with my foil.”   
Her father’s smile warmed his entire face as she watched her demonstration on his office rug. “I’m certain you will Poppet,” he said sincerely.  
“Not radical at all…” Agatha mocked, looking across to William with a subtle grin.  
They sat together in his office as their daughter tumbled and lunged across the carpet between them playfully. In the early Saturday hours, the little family sat together in the loving chaos of their life. “I think the little fencer should go wash her face,” Agatha remarked aloud. She often called Sophie to action indirectly, her word absolute in her daughter’s life. “Someone has a birthday cake to bake…” Sophie dropped to the floor, gasping excitedly as Agatha left for the kitchen.

* * * 

_Lord, I kneel and offer you, my word on a wing_  
And I'm trying hard to fit among, your scheme of things  
It's safer than a strange land, but I still care for myself  
And I don't stand in my own light  
Oh lord, lord, my prayer flies like a word on a wing  
And I'm trying hard to fit among your scheme of things  
But it's safer than a strange land, but I still care for myself  
And I don't stand in my own light  
Lord, lord, my prayer flies like a word on a wing  
My prayer flies like a word on a wing  
Does my prayer fit in with your scheme of things? 

Sophie lay on the cot, staring up at the low ceiling of the bunker. It was early March, and she had not yet received any supplies from Kingsman HQ. She slowly sat up, still tired as she stretched in the early evening and walked past the now barren supply shelf. After washing her face and brushing her teeth in the small basin, Sophie rinsed and dried her still shaved head and changed her jumper before switching on the kettle for a cup of hot water with her vitamin pack. Waking up was becoming a longer, more difficult process; and Sophie was unsure if this growing haze were due to malnutrition or restlessness. She stood in front of the kettle, listening to its hiss as her mind drifted. She remembered standing in her kitchen, in her champagne silk lingerie as she lazily dropped tea bags into each cup. Harry walked in behind her, wrapping his arm around her stomach and nuzzling her neck while the kettle reached its boil. That was so long ago.

The kettle switched itself off, snapping Sophie back to reality as she silently poured the hot water into her metal cup. She threw the vitamins into her mouth and stared at the wall as she gripped the cup and allowed the heat to radiate into her sore hands. There was no notice of a drop awaiting her, and no message from HQ. All there seemed to do was wait - by far the hardest part of the job. Sophie turned, sipping the hot water as she paced about the room. She wondered if a window would make the space easier or harder to live in. Logically, being underground was the most secure position for Kingsman - it allowed for materials to be completely hidden, and should an agent be discovered it meant a singular entrance for the all-out firefight that would ensue. But the hours in between seemed to be much forgotten, or perhaps never considered, when it was chosen. Sophie finished her cup, dismissing the thought. 

Sophie layered her tactical gear over her sports bra, grabbing her glasses as she unbolted the door and made her way upstairs to begin her forage for the night’s take. In the previous month, she had been reluctant to resort to some of the less pleasant elements of eating from the land, but as her options dwindled and help failed to arrive, Sophie let go of her reservations and began to eat whatever she could find. She had no intention of dwindling away to nothing while there was work to be done. In the clear, cold night, Sophie trimmed away the layer of Kudzu which had become a staple in her diet, digging below it for insects which were nestled among the roots of the forest. She simply pulled them away, dropping them into her repurposed nylon stocking silently. It wasn’t glamorous, but little about the work really was when she thought about it. “You’re not honestly going to eat that,” Agatha asked, disgusted, “are you?”

Sophie didn’t acknowledge her mother as she continued to pull up edible roots and mushrooms to add to her bag. Her mother seemed to come, from time to time, and though Sophie knew this to be a sort of coping technique it still seemed beyond the realm of the healthy to indulge it too frequently. Especially while exposed, when she most needed to keep her wits about her. This did not mean that she wished it to end, however. In the oppressive quiet of her isolation, she enjoyed the reprieve even if it were only her imagination. She stood, gauging whether she had the strength to walk all the way to the shore to check her traps. The last week had been very unsuccessful for her, and each soaking took its toll when she came up empty-handed. She wondered what could possibly be keeping her fellow agents, hoping it wasn’t anything too serious, but also nervously wondering why she seemed to be abandoned in this place, alone. 

She didn’t know what to think of Arthur after all this time. First he hated her, then when she seemed to accept and even reciprocate this lack of affection he could offer her kindness in the bleakest of moments. His respect came at such a dear price that she simply learned to live without it - yet she couldn’t believe his indifference would extend so far as to desertion. He was a Kingsman above any other distinction, and that behavior simply wasn’t cricket. Sophie sighed, looking at her mother’s sickly expression and trying to focus on something other than the dread she was beginning to feel about her situation. Wiping the dirt from her hands, she gathered her take and began making her way back to her bunker. She would give anything to simply remain outside, gazing up at the brilliant stars overhead and drawing in the fresh air. It was simply too risky for her to do so. She gave it a hopeful glance, said a brief prayer, and continued inside. 

Stepping inside the bunker, Sophie turned to bolt the door before shrugging her bag from her shoulder to her hand and carrying it to the table. “Yes, I’m going to eat this,” she said aloud, “no, I don’t regret being here.” She walked past her mother as she stood silent and grabbed her small reserve of foil, “I doubt very much that I would be happier as a mother or if I’d given my career up, though I will admit that I have thought about that quite a lot since you insist on bringing it up.” Agatha said nothing as Sophie continued, folding the foil before taking out her nylon stocking and switching on the kettle. “Harry once asked me to do that,” she admitted somewhat sadly. Sophie poured the boiling water over the bugs, then transferred them to the foil to roast as she began shredding the kudzu to make a salad. Agatha said nothing, and as the silence continued Sophie lost her patience and admitted, “It’s just…it’s becoming dull, thinking over and over how you disapprove of me.”

Sophie turned her focus back to the leaves, which she was hoping to dress with the last bit of oil she still had with her salt. She didn’t look up and she didn’t say anything more to her imagined companion. It wasn’t until she was unwrapping her freshly roasted insect main course that her mother’s voice returned. “Your grandmother was in the Women’s Land Army,” she announced flatly. This information stopped Sophie, pulling her attention from her meal as she looked up.   
“What?” she asked, confused, “I didn’t know that. I mean, did I know that? I must have, for you to be telling me I suppose.”   
“I don’t think that stands to reason,” Agatha argued, “but it is true. Both of my parents joined the war effort. It must be in your blood, living off of the land.” Agatha brushed a bit of lint from her dress. She was always impeccably dressed, and this was no exception. A true lady in every way. 

“I think it made things easier for my mother, not waiting for the news so many wives received,” she explained, “but it came all the same.”  
Sophie realized as she spoke that she did know what he was talking about, but hadn’t thought of it in a very long time. Her grandfather had been shot down over France while her mother was only a small child. She never knew him.   
“You should eat,” Agatha advised, “the only possible thing worse than a meal like that would have to be that meal, grown cold.” Agatha gave a mild smirk, her sharp wit shining through her disdainful tone. Sophie was seven years old again, cleaning her plate under her mother’s watchful eye. She hadn’t thought of her grandparents since she was a child, as her only living grandmother succumbed to dementia before her parents’ death, and passed soon after herself. 

There were suddenly so many questions she wanted to ask her mother, which was in itself a bittersweet experience. Her mother was not there, and Sophie was perhaps aware of that in a way she hadn’t been since her parents died. Once the tide had left, sweeping her entire life out with it, Sophie moved into the care home and simply focused on her schoolwork and fencing. She liked not thinking about anything more than her studies and music, filling her mind with the trivial and the temporary until the pain seemed further and further away from her. This control made everything seem less real, though her sadness was always deep inside her, keeping everyone at bay. Even Harry fell prey to this distance at times. Now she had nothing to keep her curiosities from drawing her back to the beginning of so much of the woman she became. She wondered what else she had forgotten about her own life, and if she had the nerve to even ask.

Her thinking was interrupted before she engaged, however, by the blinking notification from her console. Kingsman HQ had finally sent her a message, and all thoughts of her past disappeared as she abandoned her meal to check it. 

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-040306  
Supplemental - Notated by Merlin

A two day summit has been scheduled for 04/2006 but our intel shows North Korea is moving forward with the advanced nuclear weapons testing at your site. Agent Guinevere directed to take indirect action to remove target from map, with special consideration for deniability of all parties - effective immediately. 

Special deploy of supplies and provisions enroute, and is scheduled to arrive at access point by tomorrow. Package MUST be collected before dawn. Second visual preference.

End of line.

Sophie laughed dryly, a bit dizzy as she read the mission update a second time. Provisions would be arriving tomorrow - they had been working to reach her. Sophie felt awash with relief, her mind boggled with curiosity about what might be in the package. She thought of cups of tea, and those terrible ship’s biscuits that Edwin was so fond of and she couldn’t stop the grateful tears from lining her eyes. She knew they hadn’t forgotten her, and was ashamed of her doubts.  
She wiped her eyes, smiling as she confirmed receipt of message and pressed send. She suddenly felt like a child anxious for Christmas morning and too excited to eat. Sophie carefully wrapped her insect meal, unwilling to part with it until she had the provisions in her hands. She then washed and put everything away before removing her gear and shutting everything down. “Goodnight mum,” Sophie said to no one, switching off the light and falling into exhausted sleep. 

 

Sophie sat at the nearest obscured spot to the coastline, looking out at the spot where the boat arrived and she spilled out of several months before. The boat was there tonight, bobbing along and looking woefully distressed, but was clearly empty. Sophie wondered if the shipment were inside the boat, as she had been, but with the release mechanism hidden inside the compartment that seemed unlikely. Sophie began to grow nervous, when she turned the instructions over in her mind to calm herself. “Second visual preference,” she mumbled to herself, barely audible as she felt along her temple and tapped her glasses. Suddenly, she began to see bio-luminescent spots, swaying along the water in a line stretching out from the back of the boat. Sophie quickly checked her surroundings before rushing out to the water and wading out to the boat to collect whatever was glowing on the water. 

 

Once at the boat, she reached behind it and felt the magnet which connected the boat to a fine rope in the water. Sophie released the rope, pulling against the tide until she grasped the first small waterproof pack. Seeing the glowing spot, she immediately began wrapping the rope around her until she successfully pulled ten packs from the surf. Sopping wet and covered in small bundles, Sophie walked slowly from the water and carefully carried her provisions through the forest in silence. Her hands her numb from cold when she reached the building and ducked inside it. Unlocking the floor with her boot, she lifted the floor panel slowly and lowered it behind her before opening the bunker and dropping the heavy bundles at her feet. Sophie shed her gear and then her clothes shivering as she sniffed and rubbed her nude form, trying to break the chill she felt all over. She wrapped the thermal blanket around her, sitting to let it pass, staring at the bundles.

Once warm enough to dress, Sophie changed before piling all the bundles onto the table. She examined the outside of each one before opening the one marked ‘explosive.’ Within it was an entire kit for her next mission. Sophie took stock of the package, scanning it for several silent moments before she sprang to life and began suiting up. “What are you doing?” Agatha asked her, “Certainly you’re going to eat something first, Sophie.”   
“My orders were to remove target immediately,” Sophie replied, strapping her harness over her shoulders and tightening it into place. She retrieved her pistol, slipping it into her holster before she collected the explosives and her balaclava.   
“This is madness,” her mother demanded, “be reasonable.”  
Sophie slipped the mask over her face before she turned back, “Come or don’t. I have work to do.”

“I wonder if your father was right,” Agatha remarked, clearly annoyed. Sophie said nothing, wiring the charge before placing it under the wooden scaffold and continuing along the path outside the mining facility. “Perhaps you were too young to listen to such material,” she lamented, “too impressionable. I thought Hislop would protect you. Without us to guide you...”   
Sophie sighed, twisting the last wire tightly before inserting it into the semtex and sticking it into place. “You aren’t actually suggesting David Bowie is to blame for my career choices,” Sophie whispered before slipping from under the tunnel and retreating to higher ground, “because if you are, let me assure you: the 80s would have killed you.”   
Sophie looked through her binoculars, sweeping the are to ensure there is no sign of anyone from her position, “I thought you supported me having that album, not that it matters now.”

“I always supported you,” Agatha countered, “you can support something and still have reservations about it.” Sophie paused, raising her eyebrows at the fairness of her mother’s point. She then primed the detonator and triggered the series of blasts, and they watched as each of the entrances caved in. Sophie felt the slight rumble under her, and smiled at the quality of her work before quickly grabbing her bag and disappearing into the darkness.  
“Wait, was that it?” Agatha asked, “I thought you were going to blow it up. That was barely a tremble.” Sophie briefly wondering if this was some sort of mental exercise, allowing her to lay out her logic and ensure it was sound. God, how she wanted to go home. How she ached to.  
“The order was for deniability,” Sophie reasoned, “leave no evidence. If I blew up the refinery, they would know someone was here to do so. They might even execute my contacts.”

Sophie stopped, raising a hand as she listened in the distance. Grabbing her glasses, she switched on the night vision and peered around the tree to discovered a small water deer walking through the forest. Sophie watched it for a moment, strangely content before she continued on her path to beat dawn. “As I was saying,” Sophie continued as she bolted the door to the bunker, “I cannot allow my allies to come to harm. By making this look like a landslide, I effectively stop the work until the meeting next month with no one the wiser. My charges were designed to disintegrate, leaving no evidence. Everything was considered.” As Sophie said it, even to no one, she was proud. She never had the opportunity to be proud of a good day’s work with anyone really - even Harry kept his pride in her modestly. She was proud though, exceedingly so when she could look at the work and know she had made an impact. 

“I suppose that is worth all this,” Agatha said, looking around the bunker with a bemused expression, “It must be very fulfilling to have a purposeful calling, even at the sacrifice of a normal life.”  
“This isn’t my life,” Sophie dismissed, “this is just work. I don’t expect you to understand it.”  
“Don’t do that,” Agatha scolded, “Don’t push people away and then blame the distance on them. Your father did that. Don’t put your husband through it. It’s unkind, Sophie.”   
Sophie paused, guilty of the accusation and entirely aware of it. “You’re right, I do that,” she admitted as she began to open the packages and retrieved her provisions, “I’m sorry.” Sophie gave a modest smile as she began removing powders for toothpaste, soap, and provisional food packages to restock her empty shelves, “As I said, this isn’t my life. My life is wonderful.” 

“Is your life wonderful?” Agatha asked, taking a seat at the end of the cot while Sophie blustered around, putting items away from each package. Sophie smiled, realizing this was yet another part of herself she seldom got to share with other people. “It is,” she explained, “It’s staying at the Dorchester and buying my hand cream from Fortnum and Mason. It’s caviar and champagne, and the most loyal friends one could possibly imagine.” Sophie stopped for a moment, clutching the small vacuum-sealed packages to her chest, “Friends...who would die for me. Friends who **have** died for me. And for all of it, there’s cake baking and calming stillness and my Harry waiting for me. My life is truly wonderful.” Sophie screwed up her face, starting only to stop, then begin again without further elaboration. She wished this conversation - if only this conversation - were really happening.

“Do you bake?” her mother asked hopefully. A mischievous smirk came over Sophie as she stacked the provision tins onto her shelf. Cutting at glance to her mother, she answered, “No. Harry does.” She then nonchalantly returned to her housekeeping, giddy at the revelation. She couldn’t imagine her mother allowing her father near the kitchen, let alone it being his domain. With a spring in her step, Sophie opened the final bag, unpacking its contents onto the table when she turned over a small silver package, not much larger than a condiment packet. On the underside was a small painted bird, a canary. Stunned by it, Sophie clutched her face and slowly lowered into the single chair beside the table. “This,” she whispered, “this is my life. This is my Harry.” Sophie pulled her pocket knife, flicking it open and carefully piercing the corner to discover what was inside. As the red oozed from the opening, Sophie excitedly brought it to her lips.

“What is it?” Agatha asked, as Sophie ran her tongue around the roof of her mouth to savor every drop of Harry’s homemade preserves. After a moment, she opened her eyes to answer, “It’s Heaven. Absolute Heaven.” Sophie knew she should save the preserves, and try to make them last as long as possible. She considered how that was the responsible thing to do before ripping the top from the small pouch and consuming the lot in a single voracious mouthful. “I wish you were really here,” she said aloud, rubbing the little bird on the package with her thumb.   
“Well,” Agatha asked, “how do you know I’m not really here. Didn’t you pray for a sign on your path?”   
Sophie stared at her for a what seemed like forever before she drew a calming breath. “I don’t believe it works like that. I don’t think that’s what prayer is for.” 

“How do you know?” Agatha replied. Sophie looked at her, never less certain in her life that when her mother sounded entirely resolved and in disagreement, and never more so than at this moment. Sophie lifted her chin, attempting to stop its slight quiver as she stared at her and she bit her lip. “Tell me…” she requested coolly, “tell me something I don’t know.”  
“Station to Station,” Agatha answered, “Your father listened to the entire album after you spoke with him about it. He rather liked that one song, and then he was dour about it.” Sophie’s tears moistened her eyes but failed to spill, and she looked at the package Harry had sent as she rubbed it between her fingers. “You know how your father could be,” Agatha remarked flatly. This made Sophie laugh despite herself, nodding as she sniffed audibly. “My point being: if you can’t tell whether I am real or not, but I say what you need to hear, does it really matter?” 

“I miss you,” Sophie admitted, as a single tear ran down her cheek.  
“Poppet,” Agatha soothed, “everything I was meant to do was done. Look at you. So much to be proud of.” Sophie stared at her, feeling the air seem to catch in her throat.   
“Now go wash your face, and send your correspondence,” Agatha ordered “We can’t be going to pieces at every little thing - we aren’t American.”  
Sophie nodded, laughing dryly as she stood and walked to the basin.   
“Stiff upper lip, Poppet,” she heard, “that and a cup of tea and all with be well. Once your hair grows back, of course.”   
Sophie dried her face, looking up to retort but her mother was gone. She was again alone in the bunker.


	6. The Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes plans for Sophie's return.
> 
> *All of the references and dates used in this story are 100% accurate to events taking place in North Korea at the time.  
> (With the exception of Sophie's presence, of course.)
> 
> Reference: The song Sophie sings is, "I Haven't Told Her, She Hasn't Told Me (but We Know it Just the Same)" by Peter Sellers.

Sophie’s action bought everyone time, but not very much of it. The United States took advantage of the lull in negotiations, seizing major asset holdings of North Korea in Macau and claiming the funds were raised through the sale of counterfeit currency and drugs in the Americas. By April, North Korea offered to resume peace talks if America released these funds. These talks quickly fell apart, however, ending in a hopeless deadlock. Sung Kim continued to work in hope of finding a diplomatic solution to this growing problem; but most intelligence officers around the world seemed to agree that a tide had turned. The time for reversal seemed behind them. Sophie kept compiling intel, sending report after report of the progress of this program as she hoped to be home in time for her first anniversary. She counted down the days, ready to put the long harsh year behind her and enjoy anything resembling her normal life. 

In London, Harry stared at his open wardrobe. Each shirt, pressed and perfect, hung in single-file before him as he prepared to dress for his day. This is how Harry liked it: each piece considered, polished, and exact. Nothing here is overlooked.  
He too had been following each intel report, watching as the United States tested its new intercontinental missile in a clear flexing of military prowess aimed at these current frictions in the east. When Japan and the US jointly agreed to produce anti-ballistic missile technology while continuing surveillance of the DPRK, Harry felt certain that Sophie would be recalled in no time at all. He smiled, imagining their reunion after this year of intense sacrifice. How he would spoil her once given the opportunity. He selected a shirt identical to the others, removing it from the cedar hanger and holding the collar as he closed the wardrobe carefully.

* * *

“Canary?” Harry asked, looking around her bedroom in vain, “Have you seen my shirt?” Harry checked the bathroom, his expression puzzled as Sophie entered the bedroom and leaned against the vanity. He turned to discover her, standing innocently in his shirt, her lace panties peeking through. “No,” she shrugged, “I haven’t seen it.” Sophie looked away, wide-eyed but with a mischievous smirk.  
“Now Sophie,” Harry chided, “I’m going to need that shirt.”  
“What shirt?” Sophie asked, “Not my new shirt. I rather like this one. I won’t want to give it up.”  
“I’m going to be late, Canary,” Harry challenged.  
“You’re always late,” Sophie taunted.  
Harry looked at her, his eyebrow raised as she rested her hands on the vanity and stood firm. He gestured to his bare chest and said, “I’m going to need that shirt, Canary.”

“You’re going to have to take it from me,” Sophie replied playfully, leaning forward and licking her lips. The top of the shirt was unbuttoned, exposing her rose-colored bra as she shifted and tapped her nails along the vanity. She kept her gaze fixed upon him, drawing him out in lustful opposition.  
Harry looked at his watch, wrapping his tie around his left hand as he considered her immodest proposal. He had a little time to play with, and he was certain Sophie knew it when she engaged. “I’ll not want to get rough with you,” he warned her, looking up.  
“Oh, I like that,” Sophie replied softly, “Is that how you win over all those beautiful, dangerous women you encounter in the field?”  
Harry approached her slowly, the tie still wrapped around his hand as he drew close to her. “There are no other beautiful...dangerous...women,” he whispered, leaning in the kiss her lips.

The tie spiraled away from his hand as his hands worked to unbutton the shirt while he kept Sophie’s focus with the kiss. It fell between them as he opened the shirt and pressed his chest to her and slipped the shirt from her shoulders. He broke the kiss, drawing a deep breath before Sophie leaned up on her feet and pressed her lips against his hungrily. She let the shirt slide down her arms to the vanity before caressing his face. “Harry Hart,” she sighed as the kiss ended, “superspy.”  
He looked down adoringly at her, taking her hands in his as he stepped back from her. “The case of the chambray chanteuse,” he mused, “open and shut.”  
“I don’t sing,” Sophie replied jovially as Harry collected and slipped into his reclaimed shirt.  
“You did once,” he replied as he buttoned up before the mirror, ”A man can dream of an encore, can’t he?” 

 

Harry threw his tie around his head, smirking as he remembered the exchange some years before. He crossed the strip of silk across itself, looping it through to form his Windsor knot as he gazed into the mirror without focusing on anything. If Sophie were here, he would be facing the bed and performing this task to her delighted audience. Without her, it was simply a task to be completed and ticked off along with a dozen others before he left the house to start the day. He recalled her expression when she returned to work and found that same tailored shirt, freshly folded inside her locker. She stared at it as her smile grew, seeing Harry’s loving sentiment buried deep in the silence of the office. Her cufflinks caught the light as she reached inside to hang her coat, sending her own loving reply. _All lovers speak in their own private code_ , he concluded, and left his bedroom in silence. Yes, there would be quite a celebration to come. 

Harry reached for his umbrella when he paused, tapping his chin for a moment before looking back to the bedroom. He wasn’t quite ready to put his beloved out of his mind, and pondered how he might keep her near his heart while working. He turned back, opening the drawer of his bureau and grasping the small glass bottle from Fortnum and Mason tucked away for impromptu sleepovers. As soon as he opened it, Harry closed his eyes - overcome with an expression of longing as the scent perfumed the air. He reached into his coat, producing his handkerchief and dabbing a bit of the cream onto it. Rubbing it in with his thumbs, Harry carefully replaced the cream and closed the drawer before taking a brief whiff of the cloth and tucking it back into his coat. Harry wondered if this longing had worsened since the marriage, or due to her location. This mission could not end quickly enough; he wanted her out of that bunker.

Harry sighed aloud, and left the room a second time. Collecting his umbrella, he quickly left the flat and hailed a cab to the shop. _No,_ he resolved, _it wasn’t simply her being away. He had seen her away many times over the years, and had complete faith in her talent. It was **this** mission, with such unusual limitations on communication and resource, that had left him dysphoric. She had been underground, alone, in silence for a year._ The more Harry considered it, the more convinced he became that it was a mission he would not have been able to face. That was the thought which stirred his unease, yet before he could broach the subject with Arthur, there seemed to be report after report from Guinevere signalling her continued clarity and focus on the task at hand. He simply had no idea how she did it without a book or a bit of music to bring her any comfort for so long. Then Harry worried that he simply didn’t want to. 

The cab pulled up to the shop and Harry quickly entered and walked through to the second changing room. Placing his hand onto the mirror, he descended to the lower levels and continued to the lab. He was hoping Merlin had some insight into when the recall order for Guinevere might be placed, and that he would have plenty of time to make arrangements to surprise her for their anniversary. When he failed to see him in the armory, Harry continued along the corridor quietly, sweeping each room for sign of his friend and colleague. “Galahad!” Edwin called, giving a slight wave as he saw the agent pass, “Can I help you with something?”  
Harry stopped, not really wishing to speak to Edwin but not wanting to be rude. “Not really,” he answered pleasantly, “What brings you in on a Saturday?” Edwin looked across his desk, seemingly surprised at the question before he replied, “I, um...I’m always here. Just hoping to clear up some things before kickoff - the Quarter Final begins at 1700 you know.” 

“Hm,” Harry nodded, “not really my thing. I’m more of a cricket man. Best of luck to England.”  
“Cricket…” Edwin remarked, his voice trailing, “terrible news about Trueman, simply dreadful.” Harry simply nodded, allowing the conversation to lull. He found small talk mildly unnerving, even when he respected the parties involved. Truth be told, Harry preferred the silence these meetings usually maintained - even if he couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d actually been in this lab in a social capacity. His eyes scanned, actually wondering about that when Edwin interrupted his thinking. “Did you need something, Galahad?” he asked again, curiously.  
Harry realized he had no actual reason to be here speaking to Edwin, but didn’t want to arouse suspicion when he spied the completed canvas bags Merlin had been sending to Guinevere. “Are these something new for the field?” he asked, coyly deflecting his actual business there. 

Edwin looked at his workbench, a modest half-smile forming as he responded, “Oh, those are for Agent Guinevere. She needs special ration deliveries, due to her location.” Harry raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance as Edwin continued, “I’m pretty sure her recall order is coming up, but I want these perfect in case we ever need to use them again.” Edwin let out and audible sigh, his disappointment with the model clear as he bit the inside of his cheek, “Always room for improvement…” Harry wasn’t sure what to make of the man’s demeanor, as no agent would ever present themselves in such a fashion, yet he found it immediately endearing. Edwin’s devotion to his work was clear, and his dissatisfaction was evidence of his genuine concern for Sophie’s - and indeed his own - well being. Harry found himself wondering why he’d never spoken more to Edwin in the past. “Quite an agent I understand,” Harry offered, “Guinevere.”

“She’s spectacular,” Edwin ejaculated, without looking up. He seemed surprised by his admission, and added self-consciously, “I’m sorry Galahad. I, erm...I only meant that she’s an exceptional agent.” Edwin straightened the canvas, fidgeting slightly and Harry wondered if he harbored feelings for Sophie. “I didn’t mean to disrespect an agent,” Edwin added, “Sir.”  
Harry gave a dismissive wave, and Edwin relaxed immediately. “I must admit, working with her was quite an experience,” Harry commented, “You’re correct in your summation. Exceptional.”  
“That’s why these bags have to be perfected,” Edwin explained, “I was caught out before, and while we scrambled for this solution, Agent Guinevere had to hold the mission together all alone out there. Agents depend on us to do our bit, we cannot let them down.” Edwin hugged his clipboard to his chest, not used to speaking openly to another agent, “Especially one so nice.” 

Harry smiled, relieved to see another member of the team dedicated to his beloved and her safety. He could forget that he wasn’t the only one concerned with her safe return, and this chat shook him out of his recent bout of self-important pity. “We do depend on your genius,” Harry complimented, “and our confidence is well-placed. I’m sure Guinevere appreciates your efforts.” Harry caught Edwin’s glance as he concluded, “We all do. Best of luck with your game today.” Harry rapped twice upon the workbench and granted a smile before he turned and left the lab. His earlier worries seeming to evaporate as he left. _How could he doubt his amazing wife?_ he thought to himself, _Of course she prevailed, as he knew she would. Guinevere was a dedicated, passionate and talented agent, and everyone who worked with her could see that._ Harry’s shoulders lifted, and he stepped a bit quicker as he continued down the hall.

“Good afternoon sir,” the smartly dressed salesman greeted, “how may I be of assistance?” Harry looked around the showroom, not entirely what he wanted and hoping something might inspire him. “Are you shopping for yourself? A gift perhaps?” the salesman asked, directing Harry to the illuminated cases beneath the golden Chopard sign. “A gift,” Harry answered with an affable smile, “for a lady.” The salesman nodded, directing him to a case with a selection of gold pendants, some accented with a single brilliant diamond. “These are,” he began, “quite lovely. Exquisite detailing, with flawless diamonds. Very demure. Sure to lend a bit of sparkle.”  
Harry looked at the case, his expression closed and unresponsive. Before the salesman could continue, he hummed softly to himself in indecision. “And if one wished to be…” Harry began, “less demure, perhaps?” His gaze remained on the case but the salesman’s expression brightened.

“Follow me sir,” the salesman said, directing him away from the cases and into a private room to the side of the main floor. The room was a regal mix of deep red and polished oak, and the walls were accented with small glass cases displaying stunning jewelry under spotlight. Harry glanced but didn’t linger as he was offered a seat before a desk in the center of the room. “Perfect jewelry isn’t merely about the beauty of the piece but about the capacity to capture the essence of the woman it adorns,” the salesman remarked, laying a piece of red velvet across the desk as he spoke, “Tell me about this woman and I am certain the perfect piece is available.” Harry blinked several times, pondering exactly how to describe her in terms both descriptive and discreet. “She’s lissom,” he described, “brown hair, very fair complexion.”  
“And what sort of woman is she? Modest?” the salesman asked, “Colorful?”

Harry thought on the question for a few moments, unaware of the shine that developed in his eyes and the softness his expression had taken. “She’s…” he confessed, “delicate. She works very hard to conceal it, hoping to seem stalwart - and in those moments, she becomes powerful. Yet, when we’re alone, she’s gossamer and graceful.” Harry touched his lips as he thought of his wife, concluding, “She gives that to me alone, and leaves the world mourning its ignorance.”  
The salesman said nothing, and once Harry acknowledged the silence he looked up at him innocently. “Her eyes are green. Perhaps something with that.”  
The salesman cleared his throat, blinking as he considered the comments. “I believe I have just the thing,” he answered, leaving Harry to his clear longing in the small chamber as he reminisced.

* * *

“Harry,” Sophie said sweetly as she opened the door to discover him. Harry looked back at her, perfect but for a slightly askew tie as he stood in her doorway. The BBC Proms softly filled the apartment, spilling through the doorway as Sophie held her book and the door. “May I come in?” Harry asked, signalling all was not well on this particular visit. It wasn’t like Harry to be so forward, and Sophie’s expression clouded as she simply nodded and stepped back. She closed the door, setting the book onto her coffee table while he stood in the room with a sense of confusion that likened to dread. “May I make you a cup of tea?” Sophie asked softly, grasping his hand and drawing his attention from the sofa and back to her. “Ah, not just now, thank you,” Harry said softly. He studied her tender expression, unsure of exactly what to say. They had only been together a handful of times, but this was the only place he wanted to be in the world.

“Could we lay on the sofa together?” Harry asked gently. He ran his thumb across Sophie’s soft hand as she smiled meekly and replied, “Of course we can. Let me take your coat.” Without waiting for a response, she stepped behind him and peeled the coat from his shoulders before gesturing to the sofa in invitation. Harry sat down, bending to remove his shoes while Sophie placed his coat into the closet and switched off the radio. He then shifted, signalling for her to take the lion’s share of the sofa and recline into position. She followed his lead cautiously, surprised as he turned and rested his head against her bosom in silence. Harry rested on his side at the edge of the sofa, his head against her breast and his arm lightly wrapped around her hip, taking deep breaths as she reached up and stroked his hair. After several moments of silence, she whispered, “What is it, my dearest? What’s troubling you?” 

“My father has died,” Harry answered simply. He felt Sophie’s arm tighten around him immediately, closing his eyes as her warmth overcame his numb state. “Oh my love,” she said, “I am so very sorry.” In that moment, he knew this love he had for felt for Sophie ran deeper than some fleeting romance. He drew her scent in a deep breath and he was home. Sophie continued to stroke his hair softly, waiting patiently for any response from him as he simply held her and remained still. Harry lay there, staring at the patterned fabric of the sofa when he heard Sophie meekly begin to serenade him:

_I’m as happy as I can be_  
I’ve fallen in love with a boy you see  
I haven’t told him, he hasn’t told me  
But we know it just the same 

_Saturday night on my settee_  
Oh what a time there’s going to be  
I haven’t told him, he hasn’t told me  
But we know it just the same 

Harry lifted his head, looking up at her as she shrugged. “I’m a terrible sing…” she began, when he interrupted. “I love you,” he said tenderly, “very very much.” He rested his head against her once more, murmuring as she hugged him, “You are a beautiful singer, Canary.”

 

Harry sniffed loudly in the empty Chopard showroom, his mind full of memories when the salesman returned with a slender box. “This is something quite special,” he said merrily, opening the box and lifting the intricate lattice of the cocktail necklace and laying it onto the velvet. Harry leaned forward, admiring the pendant as the salesman continued, “From our Imperiale collection: a single amethyst, encased in gold and diamonds. Very sophisticated. The salesman smiled proudly, gently turning the pendant over to display the work as he described, “We also offer this in white gold, but from your description I thought the rose gold would be a better fit. It’s warmer in tone, and would compliment both the green and brown that you described.” The salesman took a moment, “As well as the other qualities. It’s a gift for someone...special.”  
Harry admired it silently when the salesman added gently, “This particular necklace is £12,300.”

“I’ll have it,” Harry said, tossing the response away almost as an afterthought.  
“Very good sir,” The salesman replied, “Would the gentleman be interested in viewing the matching earrings?” He turned back to the box when Harry replied, “Viewing won’t be necessary. I’ll have them as well. I trust they can be wrapped together?”  
“Of course,” the salesman replied. He quickly returned the necklace to the slender box and scribbled the order number onto a sales slip. “If you’ll simply take this to the cashier, I will have this expertly wrapped for you straightaway.” Harry stood, accepting the slip with thanks and leaving the private showroom, his heart singing at the thought of Sophie opening it at their anniversary celebration. He couldn’t wait to see her speechless, blushing face as she opened the package and discovered its contents. Few things in life made Harry Hart happier. 

Harry returned home, setting the black and gold Chopard bag onto the corner of his desk before sitting down to check for Sophie’s recall order. He failed to see it yet, but it was a full week until their anniversary and Harry knew he had plenty of time to make all the arrangements he had planning in his head. It was going to be a birthday to remember, Harry was going to make absolutely certain of that. He closed the laptop, enjoying the idea of bringing his plans to life. He had missed her terribly this year, and though he knew she would give no indication of it she must be terribly excited as she closed everything down in the bunker and prepped for her extraction. With nothing left to do on this evening, Harry left his office in search of a light snack before bed. He opened the cabinet, his gaze falling on the box of chamomile tea he kept for his bride. It was long stale, yet Harry couldn’t bring himself to toss it away. He sighed, closed the cabinet and decided against eating as he turned to prepare for bed.

The next morning, Harry opened his eyes in a convivial spirit. He left the bed unmade, whistling his way to the bathroom with a spring in his step. It was July 5, and this was the morning he was certain the order would come down to recall Guinevere. Harry dreamily wondered if he might be tapped to assist with the extraction in some capacity, although he figured that would be left to Gawain or even Lancelot. Harry brushed his teeth, letting his imagination draw to that satisfactory conclusion. Freshly shaved and mostly suited, Harry walked to the kitchen to switch on his kettle. While it began hissing, he turned to the small radio in the corner of his counter, switching on the BBC for the morning report. He opened the canister of loose tea, spooning it into his pot when he heard the report. Turning to face the radio, he listened as it was reported that North Korea had test fired six missiles, including the long-range ‘Taepodong-2’ in the early morning hours.

Harry turned back to his kettle, filling his pot and assembling his tray but all mirth had left him. He carried it from the kitchen, ignoring the radio as he continued to his office in single-minded determination. Setting the tray beside his computer, he took a seat and opened the laptop to key into the Kingsman network. He tapped against the desk idly, his impatience meeting his dread as he loaded Guinevere’s case file and entered his security clearance. The tea sat, unnoticed, while he glanced up the Chopard bag and time seemed to slow around him. The page loaded, and Harry shook his stupor away, skimming the intelligence and looking for updates. He wanted to believe this event would change nothing about the mission; however he knew that to be foolish. Now it was merely a matter of ascertaining how much damage had been done, and what was to be done in the wake of it. He stopped at her name: 

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-040706

Recent demolition tests are NOT NUCLEAR. If North Korea reports this as such, they are being very typical to their cause - they are lying. Work on site has not ceased and radiation testing has not shown any increase in the area. I await further instruction concerning this turn of events, and will continue sample testing and introducing anti-nuclear agent through my contacts in the reserves.

End of line.

As Harry stared at the communication, he smiled but for a pained expression in his eyes. Perhaps it was not as bad as he had worried. If North Korea had lied as Guinevere reported, the time might be right for her to be recalled, yet Harry now felt certain this anniversary would also be lost to the work. He placed the silver strainer over his cup and poured the tea as the screen blinked, refreshing and grabbing Harry’s attention away from the tea: 

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-050706  
Supplemental - Notated by Arthur

Agent Guinevere directed to remain in position, continuing work with destabilizing agent and report any changes taking place in the region. The updates are to be designated TOP PRIORITY and will be forwarded to MI-6 in accordance with Kingsman policy. Maintain surveillance in deep cover until further notice.

End of line.

Harry stared at the screen as Guinevere’s reply prompted almost immediately:

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-050706

Understood. Additional provision deploy requested as soon as possible.

End of line.

Harry looked at his watch. It was after 5PM in North Korea, and for a moment he wondered if Sophie had sat up all day waiting for that response, or if she were simply awake earlier than usual. He wondered how well she could sleep in that place, closing the laptop and standing over his teacup. He felt numb, holding the warm cup in his hands as he stared out into his office vacantly. He took his first long sip when his glasses buzzed at his temples. Setting the cup onto the tray, Harry cleared his throat before taking the call. “Galahad,” Merlin greeted him, standing outside the lab at the office. He stepped outside and lowered his voice, “I have some news concerning Guinevere.”  
“I’ve only just seen the reports myself,” Harry replied.  
“I’m sorry Harry,” Merlin said kindly, “Edwin and I are compiling a new shipment of provisions for Guinevere, should you...want to include anything. It will be completed and leave here tonight.” 

Harry looked at the bag and muttered, “Chamomile.”  
“What?” Merlin asked.  
“Chamomile,” Harry answered, “she likes a cup before bed. I will meet you in the lab this afternoon. Thank you very much, Merlin.”  
Harry removed his glasses, ending the call. He lifted the teacup, finishing the contents as he stood there. As it slowly occurred to him that this might not only mean missing the anniversary and her birthday, but perhaps months longer without her, Harry lowered the cup to the tray. He placed both hands on the desk and sighed, dropping his shoulders in deep disappointment. Then he straightened, sighed once more, and carried his tea tray back to kitchen. He switched off the radio and returned to the bedroom, methodically making the bed in silence. 

 

Sophie received the provision notification, suiting up and leaving the bunker to make her way to the beach and collect the pouches. Once collected, she slowly made her way back in the dark until she was within sight of the building. Sophie might’ve been sad that her anniversary was only days away but the past year had made her unwilling to look beyond the day. Today she had supplies, and would not be hungry. Today her mission was clear. Her love was somewhere far away and he was safe. Today was a good day.  
Once locked safely inside the bunker, Sophie lay the collection of packages onto the table, noting Edwin’s improvements as she opened and slipped out of her coat. The air was stagnant in the bunker, and Sophie stripped down to her undershirt and shorts before opening the first package. She had received a couple of these since the first dispatch, and found them agreeable. 

At the bottom of the first package, she spied a thin, zipped pouch with, ‘10/07/2006’ written upon it. She smiled curiously, setting it to the side as she continued to unpack her essentials and supplies. Once everything was adequately stored and the packages where shredded and ran through incinerator, Sophie munched a protein bar as she paced eyeing the pouch. It was the 8th of July, so she really should wait. She knew that.  
Harry would want that.  
A good wife would honor that request.  
Sophie ripped the pouch, opening it and immediately smelling his aftershave. It was faint, yet it was all she could smell in the air. She smiled, dumping the sachets of chamomile tea onto the table. Those, she vowed, would be kept for special days and not consumed quickly as the jam.

She then produced the single piece of linen paper from the envelope. She felt the texture between her fingers, recognizing the paper from Harry’s desk set. _Very clever,_ She thought, first anniversary: paper. She imagined him sitting at his desk, handsome as ever, putting this together and sneaking it into the delivery somehow. She smelled him on it, looking down to read the simple note:

****

**“I miss you.”**

Sophie had always felt that being missed was the only way a person could really know they were loved. Then you know it’s really, uniquely, that person you want. Isn’t that what love is?  
After all, to love someone right in front of you might be an act of convenience, but to miss someone when apart is to wish for them, specifically.

She wondered if Harry knew that.


	7. ZHBBSIRHLLHGSL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like word puzzles? So does Sophie.
> 
> See if you can keep up with her ;)

00:00:00 DEbSleTgSBrYtegS

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-220906

Six-party indeed. “The states shall respect North Korea's stated right to peaceful use of nuclear energy. The issue of the light water reactors will be discussed "at an appropriate time."

At an appropriate time. These talks are pointless. I see no change in their method nor direction, and I have no faith that the purposes of their plutonium mining is for energy usage. Thankfully, it would appear the nuclear program seems no more advanced than the fledgling attempts made in the early 90s. As talks are again tabled until November: this Kingsman says, bring on the dancing horses.

I’ve increased the distribution of anti-radiation pellets, which should destabilize the stockpiles. I await further instruction as these discussions continue and new intel emerges. Edwin: perhaps some hard candies in the next supply order, if you’d be so kind. Ginger? That would be lovely. 

End of line.

00:00:00 DEbSleTgSBrYtegS

00:00:00 DEbSleTgSBrYtegS

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-101006

Reports of success in nuclear testing have been GREATLY exaggerated. Barely a needle bounce within my humble bunker. Of course, there’s nothing the Yanks enjoy more than a little militaristic posturing, is there? Alas.

No radiation leakage to speak of, blast seemed on par with 500 metric tons of TNT and believed to originate near site of recent 4.2 earthquake at 41.311°N, 129.114°E. I’m no seismologist, but the math seems quite clear to me - if this was a legitimate attempt at a nuclear detonation then our anti-radiation course is working. That is the very best news. 

End of line.

00:00:00 DEbSleTgSBrYtegS

00:00:00 DEbSleTgSBrYtegS

00:00:00 DEbSleTgSBrYtegS

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-151106

Allies here on the ground are extremely anxious, as they are beginning to feel the effects of the recent sanctions placed in the region. Any information from the home office which might aid in soothing this growing concern would be appreciated. As these ‘negotiations’ continue among the politicians, seemingly nothing changes here in the field except an increase in security. I suspect our advantage might be arousing suspicion, and have advised my support here to ease our mission until such time as the climate proves less dangerous. 

I await any further information or changes in my mission, otherwise the current mission will resume once the region calms. 

End of line.

 

James stood outside the shop, lifting his shoe from his leather case. He set the shoe into the curb and stood back, looking out as a cab rounded the corner. He eagerly hailed it, smiling as it pulled up to the curb and rolled over his shoe. “Terribly sorry,” he said pleasantly, “forgot my brolly.” The black cab pulled away as he turned to return to the shop, only to retreat back and collect his shoe from the curb. As he lifted it and felt the shift of metal gears within the heel, he smiled and entered the shop. Wasting no time with small talk, he stepped to the second dressing room and continued down to HQ. James had seen something while reading Guinevere’s updates, and he was curious as to what it was. With his decoy shoe, he continued to the lab to gather further information on his hunch. “Good morning Edwin,” James called mirthfully as he entered the lab, “and to you Merlin! I wonder if I might ask for your help with something?” 

Merlin sipped his tea as Edwin looked up from a crude prototype spread across his desk. James’ expression went a bit sheepish as he produced the shoe, shaking it softly and allowing the metal sloshing within to resonate. “Report to Changing Room 3 and have them replaced,” Merlin said flatly, turning his focus back to his morning notes. James walked past him, turning his focus to Edwin as Merlin collected his supplies and left to make his morning report. “I just hate to replace them,” he explained, “the are a perfect fit and terribly comfortable. Could you have a look? No rush at all, of course.” Edwin had returned to his prototype, but gestured to an empty spot on his desk. “Certainly sir,” he answered, “you can set it right there and I’ll attend to it.” With Merlin gone, James turned his attention to the purpose of his visit, producing a small tablet and opening a file. “Edwin, is this something new, like a notation format? I didn’t get a memo and I’d hate to be caught out.”

“Actually, that’s something quite old,” Edwin answered after giving his screen a brief glance, “nothing to be concerned about, Lancelot.” James quickly withdrew the tablet, tucking it back into his case but lingering a moment. If he said nothing more, Edwin was certain to fill in the rest of the gaps and answer his real question.  
“It’s junker code,” Edwin rambled, as he reached inside his contraption and worked to tighten a few screws, “the older systems we still have in place in some locations work, but they are older. They aren’t always compatible with the network. Some reset when booted, and they post this dated code. We just ignore it down here.” Edwin looked up from his invention before adding cheekily, “it’s before my time here.” He shrugged, returning to his work.  
“So it’s just totally random,” James replied, “Hm. Interesting.”

“Totally random,” Edwin confirmed, “Compu-gibberish. Don’t give it a second glance.” James smiled, giving a understanding tilt of his head.  
“Thanks Edwin, for the shoe. Again, no hurry. You seem quite invested at the moment so I appreciate whatever time you can spare to it.”  
Edwin nodded, giving a final turn to the component, “I know how attached one can become to a great pair of shoes. I’ll see what I can do, Lancelot.”  
Edwin’s preoccupation to his project remained unbroken, so James took advantage of the lull to take his leave of the lab before his curiosity might ignite Edwin’s. He walked away from the lab with a growing smile. These letters would have been gibberish if they were random.  
However, these messages were not random. 

 

Harry stepped from his cab, turning to approach the shop when he was intercepted by Lawrence Hislop. “I’m sorry to approach you on the street like this,” he said, “but I know you don’t live with Sophie and this is the only other address I have.” Startled, Harry looked hard at him, his eyes cutting around in either direction before he responded in hushed tones. “Please refrain from speaking of our union out loud,” he whispered sternly, “especially near this place.” Harry looked harshly at him, his greeting forgotten in Hislop’s confrontation. Hislop stood there, not expecting the tone and unsure how to proceed. Harry realized himself, blinking quickly as they stood together in silence. “It’s almost Christmas,” Hislop whispered, his collar peeking up  
from his black wool overcoat, “and I haven’t heard anything in over a year. Not a word. Sophie even missed birthday gifts for the children, and she never does that. Where is she?” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry replied, “that information is classified.” His expression clouded, and with nothing more he could think to add, Harry excused himself and turned back to the shop. He had never had this happen before and he was deeply shaken at the sudden exposure. He might have to share missing his wife, but he certainly wasn’t going to talk about it on the street.  
“Is she alive?” Hislop asked, his voice clear and frightened, and Harry stopped cold. The question reminded him that, unlike he and his fellow Kingsman, Hislop was completely in the dark all this time. Harry turned back to him, walking over to keep his voice low, “Yes,” he said curtly, “she’s alive. She’s well, but I cannot tell you more than that and you are a danger to her when you don’t respect the boundaries she has placed. The discretion is for her protection.” Hislop nodded, “I’m sorry. I’m just worried.” 

The two men stood together in silence, seemingly acknowledging their shared - and secret - concern. “I will visit you in Fulham,” Harry offered, “perhaps I...will have news.” His eye traced up to catch Hislop’s gaze as he offered, “I will try. Please know that I am sorry about the forgotten gifts. I will look into such affairs in the future.”  
“Service is at 9AM,” Hislop said, gripping his hat in his hands as Harry left him on the street. Once inside the shop, Harry continued up the stairs to his locker but his concentration had been dashed by the sudden exchange. Worse still, he knew he had nothing more to tell Sophie’s reverend, and he felt stuck by his wishful offer. He had hoped for a reunion before only to have his heart broken, and he was inexplicably angry at Hislop for reminding him of it. He passed James in the hall, who called to him, “Galahad, I have something we must discuss.”  
“Not now Lancelot,” Harry replied, continuing down the hall absentmindedly. 

 

00:00:00 DEbSleTgSBrYtegS--ETAINO--

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-151206

So nice to watch the changing of seasons - like when ‘unlikely to resume talks this year’ becomes ‘talks will resume on the 18th.’ All support is back up and running, destabilizing agents in daily traffic and circulation. See attached for complete inventories of all mining reserves and stockpiles, and additional documents taken from worksites detailing construction of missiles and explosives. Good to be back in the saddle. 

Thank you for the candy. 

End of line.

 

James stared at the new message, adding the extra letters to his notes. ETAINO. What did it mean? James sat in the empty dining room, thumbing through his pages of notes, going all the way back to the first time he noticed the queer timestamps which began appearing every other Sunday and continued for months now. Edwin and Merlin had simply written them off, a hiccup following the recent system mainframe update, but James was convinced it was Guinevere trying to communicate. Codebreaking was his specialty, so he scribbled his ideas down even as he acknowledged to himself that in all likelihood, these messages are for Harry and no one else. He had attempted to tell Harry, of course. When Harry seemed preoccupied, James thought if he could crack the early code then Harry could take it from there, and in a small way he will have helped his friends. Now with this new code he knew the time for involving Harry had arrived. 

He looked over his scribbled notes and attempts to translate the code before looking at his watch - 4:38PM. Closing the notebook, James left the dining room in search of Harry. He finally found him in the locker room, collecting his coat and preparing to leave for the weekend. “Galahad,” James said, “can I speak with you about something?” Harry closed his locker and slipped into his coat as he turned to face James. “Well, I’m just out the door. After this week, I’d appreciate it. Can it possibly wait until Monday?”  
“No it can’t,” James said, stopping Harry as he walked to the exit. His hand lifted to Harry’s chest, Harry stopped before him and gave him a look of mild annoyance. Before he could say anything further, James looked past him to ensure they were alone and explained in a hushed tone, “I think she’s trying to speak to you.”

Harry blinked at him, confused. James reached for his notebook to elaborate only to have Harry stop him. “Not here,” he said, the new information slowly turning his expression to intrigued.  
“Fancy a drink?” James offered, his voice light but his stare piercing and serious. Harry looked back at him, nodding slowly. “My place,” he offered, following him out of the shop and to a cab. They said nothing in the cab, and once they reached his flat Harry quickly inserted his key before inviting James inside. James followed, placing his coat into Harry’s closet as Harry walked to the bar and poured two glasses of gin. “What did you mean when you said, ‘she’s trying to speak’?” Harry asked, handing the glass to James. James reached into his pocket, producing his notebook and handing it to Harry, who began flipping through the pages of notes. “I don’t understand,” Harry said. James sipped his gin, answering, “We should go to your office.”

“I began to notice these clusters of letters,” James explained, opening Harry’s laptop and keying in his password to the Kingsman network, “which began appearing after the system update, in between Soph’s mission reports. They looked suspicious to me, so I decided to look a bit closer at them.” James looked up at Harry momentarily as he leaned over him and looked at the screen:

00:00:00 DEbSleTgSBrYtegS

“That’s just a bit of runoff code,” Harry dismissed, “isn’t it?”  
James smiled, “That’s what Edwin thought too, but I don’t think so. For one, they are the same. Runoff code would be random, and these are not. Also, look at this:” James pointed at the timestamp before each instance as Harry leaned down to really study them. “It’s midnight London time,” James explained, “not North Korea time. I think she’s keyed them in, which means this isn’t runoff at all - but a message.”

Harry stared at the code, noting the time and the frequency. James was right - it did look suspicious. “What do you think it means?” Harry asked. He stared at the same bit of code, posted over and over for months now and was suddenly ashamed he never noticed it. He found himself wondering how often James logged in to read Sophie’s reports, a thought he had to admit mildly annoyed him. “That’s what I can’t figure out,” James said, scratching his head as he reclined in the chair, “and I’ve really been trying to crack it. Whatever the code is: it’s original, something she came up with out there. That’s why I brought it to you. Soph must’ve written it to you, using something you know that the rest of us don’t.” From behind James, Harry smiled at the thought of the code being written for him alone. He collected the glasses, stepping to the door to refresh their drinks as James remarked, “Soph, you clever girl.”

“She is brilliant, my Sophie,” Harry beamed, ducking from the room to return to the bar downstairs. _Soph,_ he thought with a huff. He never cared for the familiarity of that nickname, but seeing James struggle did seem to ease his pride a bit. Then he thought of his wife, attempting to reach out to him only for her signal to be ignored and he was again dour. _Clever girl_ he sniffed, pouring the drinks, “You’re **brilliant** you are,” he mumbled to himself. On an ordinary day, he considered James a friend and a colleague; but he was less enthusiastic when faced with Lancelot’s friendship with his Canary. It was unbecoming, and he knew it, but he didn’t enjoy sharing his wife with anyone. Harry finished the drinks, reminding himself that James brought the information to his attention and that he should be thankful to him. His longing over these eighteen long months mustn’t become his excuse for rudeness. James is a friend.

“So,” Harry said, returning to the office as James looked over his notes, “what do you think she is trying to tell us?” He handed the drink to James, who accepted it with thanks.  
“Well, you,” James answered, “I think this is a message meant for you. I just hope I’m right.” Harry grabbed the chair from the corner of the room, dismissing James as he offered to relinquish Harry’s office chair. As he took a seat, James returned to the computer, pulling up the file, “This most recent one is different. Have a look.” James turned the computer for Harry to examine it:

00:00:00 DEbSleTgSBrYtegS--ETAINO-- 

“Etaino,” Harry read aloud, his eyes trailing as he pondered it’s meaning. He took a sip of his gin and sat back in his chair, trying to make sense of the message. “Certainly not the aborigines…”  
“Sophie…” James mumbled to himself, staring at his notes, “Soph...phie…”  
“Yes,” Harry remarked, “I’ve never been fond of the nickname. Personally.”  
James didn’t respond, pulling Harry’s biro from his desk set and hastily scribbling into his notebook. “What is it?” Harry asked, standing to look. He stood over the desk, looking over James’ shoulder as he worked:

E-T-A-I-N-O

S-O-P-H-I-E

“It couldn’t be that simple,” James said, looking up at Harry, “Could it?” Harry snatched a piece of paper from his desk set, pulling another pen from his desk drawer and attempting to extrapolate from James’ guess. He finished, showing the result to James:

_S_ _ _SO _ _ _ OS_ _

James grimaced, looking at the first attempt. “It doesn’t look like anything to me.” Harry lowered the page, disheartened. “The name still fits,” he assured, “let’s stick with that for the time being.” James nodded, and both men returned to their seats to concentrate on the information. Harry stared at James’ first attempt at decoding. _Those dashes in the message,_ he wondered, _what if she’s trying to give us the key?_ Harry grabbed a book from his desk, using it to write upon as he wrote Sophie’s name:

SOPHIE ELIZABETH HOLLANDER HART

Harry smiled, and thinking of his wife, he tried a second time:

SOPHIE ELIZABETH HOLLANDER HARRY HART

Harry had no way to know she would add his name, but something about it felt right. It just felt like his Sophie. Pleased with this idea, he sought to simplify this by removing duplicate letters:

SOPHIE ~~E~~ L ~~I~~ ZAB ~~E~~ T ~~H~~ ~~H~~ ~~OLLA~~ ND ~~E~~ R ~~HARR~~ Y ~~HART~~

“ETAINO,” Harry repeated, staring at the remaining letters, “What if it doesn’t mean anything? What if it’s also a group of letters?” He looked over to James, who seemed confused by the question. Harry thought on it another minute, jumping up from his chair and leaving the room abruptly, a spring in his step. He rounded the stairs, walking into his bedroom and crossing the bed to Sophie’s side. There, he opened the drawer of the small bedside table and retrieved Sophie’s Oxford crossword dictionary. Harry smiled at the dog-eared, marked up copy as he returned to the office and set it upon his desk. “I didn’t know Soph did the crossword.” James commented with a smirk.  
“Every Sunday morning,” Harry beamed, “when she’s home. She’s quite the logophile.”  
James smiled at the thought, and for a moment both men shared in their separate appreciation.

“So, is ETAINO a crossword clue?” James asked, “I’m still not sure I understand.” Harry opened the paperback, thumbing to the back. On the back cover, Sophie had a long list of neatly written clues and references for herself. Among them was a list of letters, beginning with ‘E-T-A-I-N-O’ and continuing through the rest of the alphabet. “It’s the alphabet,” Harry realized, “in the order of frequency of use. That’s the key: we just have to use it backwards. That’s why you couldn’t solve it before.”  
“That’s brilliant,” James laughed, “I knew it was a code meant for you. I never would’ve guessed that - how would I have known?”  
Harry was radiant, having known his wife so well. “Let’s test the theory and see what we come up with,” he suggested. He returned to his notes, comparing the letters to solve the cipher:

S / O / P / H / I / E / L / Z / A / B / T / N / D / R / Y / G / U / V /

E / T / A / I / N / O / S / H / R / D / L / U / C / M / Y / V / F / G

“Wait,” James interjected, “that isn’t all these letters. Even with ‘Guinevere’ added.” He stared at the code, unsure where to go. “These are the letters we have,” Harry said, determined, “So we test them.” Harry sat down with the code, trying to decipher the original code. Flipping the key to give him the maximum variation of letters, he slowly checked each letter, writing each one down. When he finished, his face exploded with joy as he lifted the sheet to show James:

CODE \ SOLVED \ MY \ LOVE \ SOPHIE

“Good show, old friend!” James cried, lifting his glass to his colleague. Harry stared at the simple message, his heart swelling with the joy it gave him. “She’s been sending this for weeks,” he said softly, “waiting patiently for me to notice.” He ran his thumb across the page, his chest aching at the thought of her, sending it over and over.  
“She’s very clever,” James offered, “using a hobby like this to keep herself sharp and focused while alone. “We all read that in the manual, but to see someone do it in the field is positively brilliant.” James looked at his friend, seeing his longing on him as he kindly pointed out, “She’ll be over the moon when you respond. Absolutely overjoyed.”  
Harry looked back at him, his smile returning as he nodded in agreement. He held the paper tightly in his hand as he replied, “Thank you, James. Thank you for this.”

“Were I you,” James advised, “I’d send the reply code a few minutes before midnight, to give her older system time to update. That way, it will appear the same as all the others and will be dismissed just as easily.” Harry had not considered this, suddenly nervous as he considered what to say to wife. He looked at his watch - he had four hours to compose something. Only four hours to unclasp his weary heart and make it worthy of her. Still, he’d faced tougher tasks, surely. “Right,” he replied, “very good. Yes.” Harry then inexplicably straightened his part, which amused James to no end. As Harry remained standing in his office, paper in hand, James rose to his feet and took the lead, “I’ll just be off then,” he explained, “all at once, I fancy one of those extremely ill-advised pub dinners: all bangers and gravy. You remain here and I’ll show myself out. Just…” James paused, “give my love to the wife.” Harry nodded silently as he left the room, and listened as his door closed downstairs.

Harry sat down, staring at the code that he sketched out on his letterhead. He grabbed another sheet of paper, trying to think of exactly what he could say after so many months apart. Now unencumbered by any middleman, Harry’s mind raced to all the things he longed to tell her. Slowly, he began to find the words, trying to use the letters available. It wasn’t as easy as he thought, as Harry would choose a word, only to find it contained letters he couldn’t use. Harry furrowed his brow.

My brilliant Canary

_No,_ he muttered, crossing through the word ‘brilliant’, _not enough letters. Think Harry._ He took a moment, trying to form his thoughts within the parameters of the code.

...craving the taste of your breath _(No)_ ...your sex _(No. Damn.)_

Harry sighed, annoyed by his limitations. He wanted to tell his wife everything stirring within him, he just had to get the hang of the code. Harry switched to whisky, nursing a drink as he relaxed and let his thoughts linger on Sophie. He wanted to tell her how much he missed the warmth of her laughter, and the brilliant green of her eyes. He thought of her soft whimpers, so close to him in the dark of their bedroom and he wanted to tell her how he missed being responsible for them; how she made him feel like the only man in the entire world. Inspired, Harry set his drink on the blotter, returning to his note with renewed zeal. He’d find the words, and he’d substitute wherever he had to along the way. Harry put the pen to paper, letting his words flow, looking to the cipher key every few moments to confer as he set to transcribing his note using Sophie’s special code. He finished, keyed it into the computer; and at the stroke of midnight, Harry sent his message.

 

00:00:00 RYrpaGstENldpIPayHprLOPagsBDApgHIvOzsOploSEuyENDeILn  
rSBhITeiVhIvUEAyENaTPnvZoSALeuOIsLLpIbTHvzOHPbEaSYen

Sophie laughed dryly, scratching her freshly shaved scalp as she stared at Harry’s coded response. “I suppose you cracked the code at last,” she giggled, “you clever boy.” She fetched her small notepad, working to decipher the lengthy message. Once finished, she rested her chin on her fist, reading and rereading the his simple prose:

...I adore you.

Her heart full, she pulled the blanket around her shoulders in the cold of the bunker. She was certain she’d never get used to the winters here, but she hoped this might be her last one in this place. She’d long since given up any hope of being home in time for the holiday. She gave up getting home in time for anything, and longed only to return home someday. She was exhausted with this place: it’s monotony and the emptiness which seemed to extend before her eternally.

Then she smiled. Her Harry had sent her a love note. She stared at it, knowing it must be incinerated. There could be no trace of her identity, and no evidence which could fall into enemy hands. Sophie tried to reason that the note would add a bit of warmth to the frigid chamber for a few moments, only to have that notion feel hollow. She stared at the note one last time, stepping to the incinerator before she ripped it into strips. She imagined Harry - his elegant hands steering his biro across the page as he crafted each word before she took a deep breath and began eating the strips of paper. In this way, his words didn’t perish - they would remain inside her, where she could experience his affections with at least one more sense. In this way, it wasn’t over yet. Sophie chewed the thick, fibrous sheet and then washed it down with the last bit of her anniversary tea. She swallowed it down, determined to make his words a part of her very being. 

 

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-241206

No new intel to report, anxiously awaiting the conclusion of the six party talks as I believe that might serve to end the necessity of this mission if anything can concerning the nuclear threat. I admit, wearily, that it is the belief of this agent that the genie is out of the bottle of that front.

The additional shipment of supplies in advance of the holiday was a wonderful surprise, and the additional thermal bodysuit was especially appreciated in this weather. I hope- every agent is well during this season break. 

Thank you for the added supplies. Merry Christmas Edwin. 

End of line.

 

00:00:00 LzeAOsarYBspaSLORsiaayDZaHLorpLhrhllYEnReas


	8. Routines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Routines keep us safe and sane, and help us to realize when everything has changed. Without these markers, our very lives might slip away from us.
> 
> Note: All names, dates, and references in this story (outside of Kingsman of course) are real and can be researched if interested!

00:00:00 oStTrseuTEiBeiPIyoZHiV

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-140107

I agree with Song Il-ho: I think these conversations do depend on the Yanks. Will they allow diplomacy to win the day, or will they be able to resist playing Captain Pugwash?  
Time will tell. Losyukov seems eager to take over as chief at least. Isn’t Russia simply loving all this opportunity.

Mission ongoing, but ingredients was in short supply. Within a couple of months, another large drop of synthetics will be necessary to continue. Otherwise, everything here is routine, and commentary. 

End of line.

 

00:00:00 SiVTpiBteLOoZSuHuozPLzslOSLoOepNLOApthPBsGPloPoHIV

Hislop walked through his silent church, passing the altar as he continued to restock the candles and lock the front doors for the night. “Good Evening, Mr. Hart,” he said aloud as he passed the figure in the pew. He did not stop or look in his direction, merely calling out into the empty space as he continued down the aisle. Harry finished his prayer and stood to follow the older gentleman as he locked the large wooden doors for the night. “We used to be able to leave these open to the community,” Hislop lamented, “as it should be: a home to any weary traveler.” Hislop sighed, filling the boxes to either side of the rack with tea light candles from a large economy bag. He stood before the glow of the few remaining candles before turning back to Harry, “Are any of these yours?” He asked - extending a dry sort of courtesy before blowing them out once Harry shook his head. “Follow me,” he instructed, walking past Harry in the dark.

“I seem to remember inviting you to a Sunday service,” Hislop recalled, “is it not late Monday evening?” Hislop continued into his office, not waiting for a response. Harry was certain he respected and might even like the vicar, should their interactions ever venture beyond the occasional chiding. There was simply no room on the matter with which to budge: as a Kinsgsman, Harry could not divulge more information, and as her father figure Hislop would always want more of it. “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Harry offered in reply, “I have some news for you, and I thought it would be easier when you weren’t otherwise engaged.” Hislop acknowledged the logic in this with a half-shrugging nod. He walked to the back of his office and reached above the sink to retrieve the half-full bottle of Glendronach he had been storing there since that July evening with Sophie. “I had hoped to toast this **with** Sophie,” he said.

“She said, ‘don’t worry’,” Hislop recalled, “It won’t be so long this time. I know what I’m doing.” He extended a glass, which Harry gratefully accepted before Hislop offered him a seat on the leather sofa, “Yet all I seem to do is worry. It’s been nearly two years without word.” Harry cradled his glass in his hands, looking down as the vicar took his seat. “She can’t send you word where she is,” Harry explained simply. Hislop rolled the golden liquor around in his glass, dissatisfied with that answer, “No, but surely she can take a moment when she’s back to pick up her mobile and give an old man some peace of mind. You be certain to tell her I said so.”  
“She hasn’t been back,” Harry responded, shaking his head slightly and lifting his glass to his lips, “You’ve seen her more recently than I.” With that admission, Harry threw back the liquor in one smooth drink while Hislop simply stared. “She hasn’t…” Hislop confirmed, “in _two years_?”

Harry focused on the glass, pressing his lips together silently to enjoy the last taste lingering there. “She’s, erm…” he struggled, “it’s classified I’m afraid.” Harry squeezed the glass in his grip, rocking it back and forth slightly in his grip and for a few moments the two men sat in silence. Hislop offered a second dram, only to have Harry raise his hand to decline. He thought for a moment, a meek smile forming as he divulged, “She’s developed a secret language, just for us. So I know she is alright and I can tell her how much I miss her. It’s quite clever.” Hislop nodded, sharing in the smile as Harry’s face warmed pridefully. “She was always very good with puzzles,” Hislop remarked, sipping down the last of his drink. He looked at Harry and realized they were in the same boat, only able to watch the dock hopeful of her return. “I promise you this,” Harry said stirringly, “there is no one I know more capable of the task before them than my wife; and should this sojourn leave her weary I will nurse her back with indefatigable care.”

“I envy her,” Hislop admitted, “you certainly sound like a man very much in love. It never happened for me, but perhaps that was my calling.” Hislop leaned forward and paused momentarily, “I’ve been thinking of my legacy a lot lately, and the people I love. Blasted doctors have some concern about my heart. I’m taking medication of course, but it really makes you think.” Harry studied the vicar’s expression closely, knowing this information would prove volatile with his beloved’s current situation. “Is it serious?” Harry asked gently. Hislop brushed it off, standing to collect both glasses and return them to his small sink, “Merely the business of getting older. Does linger in one’s thoughts, however. I would very much like to see her face again.” Hislop turned back to Harry, “I’m terribly sorry, but I am quite tired.” Harry nodded, standing to leave. He extended his hand to Hislop, shaking it as Hislop requested, “This language you share...could you tell her that I love her?”  
“Of course,” Harry assured, “I will tell her, sir.”

 

00:00:00 rYteAbOapVhDHIrenAihiv

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-130207

According to my contacts here, the CIA is filing a report saying that the uranium enrichment efforts of North Korea are faulty. Can I take that to mean that our long term commitment to destabilizing the stockpile has been a success? I certainly hope so. 

It seems to me that the inroads are being made in these smaller conversations between countries. All the chatter seems to suggest that if North Korea is given the fuel oil it is seeking, these negotiations will take a turn away from nuclear consideration. After all, North Korea did agree to shut down and seal the Yongbyon nuclear facility. Perhaps that would mean a possible mission hiatus. One could hope - call it a gift for the Lunar New Year.

My mission will continue as long as it can, or until new orders are received. 

End of line.

 

00:00:00 gHDPaLsiBLteGSpLbehDPiPay

Harry took his seat just as lunch was being served in the dining room, looking across at Lancelot as Arthur sat between them. Harry glanced down the table, watching as the holograms blink out as they left the meeting. Harry silently draped his napkin across his lap, pushing his spoon into his bisque without acknowledging anyone. Lancelot studied his demeanor curiously, as Harry is often affable, if only performatively so. The silence was unusual, and though Arthur seemed oblivious to it James spotted it straightaway. “Galahad,” Arthur greeted, “to your right you will find files regarding your new mission. Five British embassy workers have been kidnapped in Ethiopia, and we have reason to believe it’s connected to Sullivan Nero. He’s been operating in the area. We want you to recover those workers, and trace any leads possible back to Nero. There is no higher goal to this organization than taking Nero off the map.” 

Harry sipped his soup, opening the file and looking over the cover letter briefly before returning his spoon. “Consider it done,” he said flatly. Arthur smiled, returning to his lunch as silence overtook the table. Harry continued to his next course, chewing as he began to read the case file while Arthur mused about something Harry found no interest in. Just as he was about to find his disinterest caught out, Andrew appeared at the door and called Arthur away from the lunch to address something in the shop. As Arthur excused himself to answer the call, Lancelot waited for privacy between the two agents. He expected Harry to be bursting with news once Andrew closed the doors behind Arthur, yet Harry returned to his lunch in continued silence. “So, the code?” Lancelot said casually, “Everything seems to be working out on that front.”  
“You know that it is,” Galahad replied without looking up, “You often read the reports I see.”

“Because I miss her too Harry,” Lancelot whispered, leaning into the table and catching Harry’s eye, “and you wouldn’t have that code if it weren’t for my attention, I might add.” Harry looked up, noting the hurt in James’ expression as his expression softened. “That’s true,” he conceded, “I’m sorry, James. I’ve no right to be cross with you. In fact, I’m just frustrated in general.” Harry’s eyes trailed from James’ face to the folder beside him before he returned to his lunch, his face returning to a stoic blank as he lifted his fork and took another bite. “And now,” Harry said, his voice airy as he dropped each word, “I have a mission. I have to leave, just as she might be coming back.” Harry again fell silent, crunching down the romaine of his salad under his exacting fork as James watched. Now that he was looking, he could see Harry’s enervation.  
“Remember when we used to just get together over bourbon?” James joked.

His remark made Harry smile momentarily, then sigh in exhaustion. “Do you want the good news, or the bad news?” James continued as Harry sipped his water. Harry thought for a moment, but his face was blank as Lancelot continued, “They’re the same news: you won’t miss Guinevere’s return. Arthur isn’t going to bring her home anytime soon.” Harry looked at him, his anger plain but Lancelot simply shrugged, “It’s true, Harry. See it as a positive or no.”  
Harry rested his fork, lifting his napkin from his lap and patting his mouth before folding it and setting it beside his plate. “You have the code,” Harry asked carefully, “will you use it?”  
James paused, puzzled by the question, “No. I didn’t keep it. That belongs to you and your wife.”  
Harry stood, replacing his chair and turning to leave. “If I’m not here,” he requested, “would you...record Eurovision? She loves it and she never gets to see it.” James nodded, and Harry quickly left. 

 

Commentary and the routine. Night and day, up and down, back and forth, and here and there. Sophie spent every morning laying on her cot thinking of Harry, wondering where he was and if he was happy. She then made a cup of the instant tea Edwin had switched to in the smaller supply deliveries. She winced most days, as the instant was dreadful. Then she pondered which tea she would have at Fortnum’s when she returned. Darjeeling? Gunpowder perhaps? So many options to consider as she rinsed the cup and returned it to its resting place. Sophie spent most of her day this way: filling her head with colorful commentary of the mundane tasks which filled her hours. She didn’t miss her mother necessarily, but she did note the absence of someone to speak with. _Had it been a year already?_ She wondered, realizing that had her mother only been a voice in her head - she would likely have returned by now. 

With that notion still buzzing around her head, Sophie stripped into her undergarments for the tactical suit and focused on her daily exercise routine. Part stretching, part resistance training, these routines kept her fighting fit should any actual altercation present itself. She would have preferred the opportunity to keep her firing sharp, as that would be the far more likely, but there was no way for her to do that while under deep cover. Sophie wrapped each hand with strips of clothing she could no longer wear and then walked to the end of the bunker where the wall was made of wood. It seemed silly to her to waste all this time, so Sophie had been strengthening her hands by punching these wooden beams and doing push-ups with her knuckles. Though it was quite painful in the beginning, she barely noticed it at all now. She had also developed quite a bit of muscle as she lost her body fat. Sophie was sure she’d hate it, if she could see herself. 

Once she was finished exercising, Sophie cleaned around the bunker. She carefully made the bed and dusted every corner before pumping a basin of water from the well tap and taking it to the mirror. There she first soaked her hands in the icy water until any ache passed and they numbed; then she washed her face and brushed her teeth with the powder from her washbag. This was the only time each day Sophie looked at herself, usually with a scowl at her slightly gaunt visage and lack of any makeup. She understood that makeup was an unnecessary resource in this place, but her pale expression never failed to inspire her harshest criticism. _What will I do when Harry sees me like this?_ she thought with a deep sigh. Of course, he will simply wrap his arms around around her and treat her like some sort of goddess she admitted. _One of the Erinyes_ she laughed to herself, dumping the basin, _maybe Circe._

Now washed and dressed, Sophie snacked on a ship’s biscuit as she booted the computer and checked for updates. In the beginning this would’ve been her first stop, but as she neared her two year anniversary in this bunker her faith that Arthur thought of her at all had simply evaporated. It was no longer a matter of whether or not she enjoyed the work - this was the life she had chosen. This was the person she was. She keyed her passcodes into the network and looked for any sign of mission change or update. There was none. Sophie sighed, then scrolled up to stare at the last message from Harry. Even looking at the scramble of letters gave her a tremendous sense of calm. She remembered the first time he called her his ‘girl’ without realising he had cemented their coupling in his mind. _”but tonight, or this morning perhaps,” _his voice rang in her mind, _”you are warm, you are safe, and you are loved.”___

__

__DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-220307_ _

__Officials here appear to be complying with previous order, and are moving forward with closure of nuclear plant in this region. Many of my contacts are returning to work in either refinery or agriculture. There is a shifting of tone in this region, a sort of unease but I have been unsuccessful in determining the source at this time._ _

__Down to final batch of synthetics, and now renewing my appeal for supplies. Am I to conclude the failure to receive any further word might be a sign that extraction plans are being drawn?  
Can’t wait to hear from you..._ _

__End of line._ _

__

__Sophie finished typing, sending the message with a bored huff. She did have a single batch to mix and drop, and with no other real business to keep her Sophie filled the rest of her time within the bunker, reading on the events keeping her there and the reports filed by her friends. This was a bit more difficult with Harry - who always filed his reports a bit late. Sophie shook her head as she thought about it. She’d become a bit of a reluctant expert on this mission, but with isolation just about anything can come to seem interesting. So her night usually found her: warmed by incinerator, snacking on some pouch of MRE, reading field reports and intel to pass the idle hours before she could sleep. Routine, and the commentary - these were the things that were keeping her as she ticked off another day - 607 and counting. Sophie slipped into her tactical gear, preparing to make her routine drop before she returned to it._ _

__Once fastened into her gear, she grabbed the drop and prepared to step out into the evening. Inside the bunker it was an average day, but outside it was almost 3AM local time, and the smallest sound could travel so Sophie had to be hyper aware of every action once she left the building. She unlocked the bunker, stepped out to the stairs, and switched on her night vision before she slowly ascended the stairs and up through the floor of the building. This was one of the most difficult parts: for if she were discovered here she was at a desperate disadvantage. Sophie always held her breath as she lifted the concealed hatch and slowly, quietly stepped out. With the hatch replaced and locked down, Sophie checked her blind spots and slowly left the building to leave her drop at the designated location. She walked slowly, keeping her gait similar to deer for any listener, through the brush and the kudzu that she did not miss in the slightest._ _

__Sophie backed to the tree and lowered herself in the dark to deposit her drop under the rock that served to mark it for her conduit to the factory. She carefully rested it there, covering it with loose debris and replacing it with the rock before she stood and tamped it lightly with her foot. She took a step away from the tree when she heard the command:  
_ _

**"geogi meomchwola"**

Sophie froze, her heart in her throat as she slowly turned to face the young soldier with his gun fixed on her. When her face caught the moonlight and he realized she was not local, he fired, striking Guinevere to the lower right of her ribcage and sending her back against the tree. She crumpled there, clutching her side and pulling the bullet from the fabric which had stopped it but not prevented it from damage. She heard him approach as she took laboured breaths, motionless.

The soldier could not have been much older than 18, and shook as he approached her. Guinevere was unsure if that was from nerves or cold, as his boots looked as though they were coming apart as he approached, but she did not waste time considering this. She slowly raised a hand to calm him, only to unexpectedly charge him and grab his weapon. He cried out as Guinevere pulled him forward and attempted to wrestle the gun from his grip. Guinevere quickly released with one arm, kneeing him in the side and swinging him away from her. Using the gun, she struck him in the face, then twisted the weapon around him. She then pulled the gun sharply, pulling the small man across her back and she gripped the rifle and pulled it across his windpipe with as much force as she could. There she remained, pulling with all her might as her forearms trembled and listened to the man aspirate slowly and gargle.

He attempted to struggle, but on his back he was in no position to stop Guinevere from crushing his windpipe. Within a few moments, he dropped his arms and ceased breathing. Guinevere slowly lowered him to the ground before quickly looking around for sign of any other soldiers. After several moments without any backup, she realized he wasn’t actually looking for her. He had merely been on a sweep and had incredibly bad timing. She looked down at him, devastated at her action when she realized that no one could find him this way. After another sweep of the area, Guinevere lifted the body and draped it across her back as she began to slowly make her way to the shore. Once she reached the beach, she lay the soldier in the surf and tucked a small, grenade-like device into his coat. She depressed it, and pushed his body out into the tide, watching as his body sank below the waves and disappeared.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, wincing as she clutched her side and left the beach before daylight could expose her. _That wasn’t supposed to happen,_ she kept saying to herself, over and over as she reached the building and tucked into it. It was then that she realised she was still holding the young soldier’s rifle to her side. She triggered the floor hatch and quickly returned to the relative safety of her locked bunker before she set the rifle in the corner by her cot. Edwin’s fabric could stop a bullet, but it could not absorb the shock, and with her shot being point blank, Sophie’s side ached as she pulled her right side from the tactical suit. She noted the large discolored area immediately, and wondered if one of her ribs had been cracked or broken. Sophie grabbed her washbag and turned it out over the cot, grasping the small glass bottle of salve Harry had once brought to her. She carefully rubbed it in, collapsing against the cot in agony.

 

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-220307  
SUPPLEMENTAL

Agent has suffered gunshot injury during possible exposure onsite during final drop. Exposure believed neutralized, complete damage from gunshot unknown at this time. Medics applied - Agent will report further information as it becomes available.

With greatest gratitude to Edwin for a champion canvas. Rock of eye proves lifesaving as always.

End of line.

 

Sophie sent the message, shutting down the console and lumbering back to the cot. She wrapped the site with inelastic bandage which she hoped would keep the swelling at a minimum. She then repacked her washbag and set in on the floor for the evening as she reclined into position on the cot. There she relaxed into position, staring back up at the ceiling in the silence of the bunker as she tried to steady her breathing in a way that didn’t hurt. Whimpering softly, she grasped her glasses, switching off the nightvision and surrendering to the dark of the bunker as she lay there, listening for any sign of another soldier. The adrenaline had worn off, and all that remained was the pain, and her mounting fear of what would follow his disappearance. With these lingering worries fresh in her mind, Sophie lay in the dark trying not to think that the pain in her side was anything more than serious bruising, hoping sleep might find her soon.

 

Harry sat in the post mission briefing, tapping his biro impatiently against the table. Nearly fourteen hours ago, Guinevere reported that she had been shot in the line of duty and yet there continued to be no mention of it at this briefing. Harry looked from Lancelot to Merlin, waiting for anyone to question why as the mundane information was reported to Arthur. Even as Arthur congratulated Galahad on another successful mission, the chatter was lost on Harry as he stared forward awaiting some acknowledgement for his fellow Kingsman. His resolve broke as Arthur dismissed the meeting, watching as each hologrammed Kingsman sign off and disappear around the table. “What are the plans to extract Agent Guinevere?” Harry asked directly, “Is there a team being formed?” Merlin and Lancelot exchanged fleeting glances as Arthur looked back, puzzled by the question. “We have no plans to extract Guinevere at this time,” he replied.

Harry dropped his biro onto his file in disbelief, turning to his fellow agents and requesting, “Would you gentleman excuse us?” Lancelot and Merlin both stood to leave, only to have Arthur stop them. “There’s no need for privacy on this matter,” Arthur stated, “you needn’t go anywhere. I take it you disagree on this matter, Galahad?” There was a cool indifference in Arthur’s tone that only served to alight Harry’s misgivings and stoke them to outburst. “She’s been shot, Arthur…” he began carefully, only to have Arthur quickly rebut, “Through a bulletproof suit. She reported as much, and said she would continue to report on her condition. Is that not a satisfactory position for a fellow agent to take? Are we to disregard her appraisal here?”  
“She could have a ruptured organ,” Harry answered, “broken ribs or bone fragments doing internal damage. A fellow agent in the field needs medical care - are we really to ignore that?” 

Arthur said nothing for a moment, considering this as Merlin offered, “We could attempt a scan here. Request a series of photographs that Edwin and I can interpret from here perhaps?” Arthur listened, but Harry was disaffected by this suggestion. “And if she’s bleeding internally?” he asked, “if she...is gravely unwell?” Harry stood, pacing alongside the fireplace to steady his thoughts, “Are we really going to sit here, kicking our heels, and let this play out?”  
“Guinevere’s mission has proven a serious success,” Arthur explained, “she is perfectly positioned and extremely well-suited to the task at hand. Extracting her could dash two years of her own work, and might be an irrevocable act. I believe in this, Galahad, yes: we will allow this to play out at this point.”  
“And if she dies?” Harry asked quietly. Lancelot and Merlin sat silent, watching Arthur carefully.

“If she dies,” Arthur replied, “she will do so as we all do - serving Queen and country and upholding the ideals of Kingsman. We have plausible deniability in this, so there will be no unraveling of her work thus far.” Arthur stood, walking to the bar and filling a glass. Lancelot wondered if this was to give himself a moment to fall resolute to this conclusion he has drawn, but Harry was only driven further to dismay. “Arthur, to my great shame, I have held my tongue for 15 years on this matter, but now I really must speak regarding your treatment of Agent Guinevere…” Merlin sent a text to Lancelot as they sat silently between the two standing men:

_Should we leave? I don’t know that we should watch this._

Lancelot rolled his eyes, texting back:

_If you think I’m missing this, you are out of your mind._

“My treatment of Guinevere?” Arthur replied, returning to his chair, “I don’t know what you mean.” Harry stared at him before again looking from Merlin to Lancelot and back to him. “I have watched, countless times, as you have silenced Guinevere. Ignored Guinevere. Denied Guinevere access to materials pertinent to the execution of her duties - and I have kept my silence this long time because she has, time and time again, risen above these efforts and proven herself a valuable asset to this organization.” Harry took a moment, sipping the water at his seat before he cleared his throat and admitted, “I also remained silent because you have made it abundantly clear that anyone who speaks up for Agent Guinevere must be suspect. Well, perhaps I should be suspect. Maybe she is the love of my life, Arthur. I love her desperately - so bloody what?”

Lancelot looked up at Harry, stunned, before looking wide-eyed to Merlin, who gave no sign of acknowledgement as Harry continued, “It was my cowardice to allow this persistent delusion of yours that any one of us speaking out for a fellow agent must have a romantic motive, but that time is done. She’s been shot. She needs care. To do nothing now is to willfully risk an agent’s life...and to save nothing, but this time I will be filing a grievance.” Harry rested his palms on the table and looked hard at Arthur for several uninterrupted minutes. “Whatever your problem with Agent Guinevere: find an endgame, and bring the agent home Arthur.” Harry lifted from the table, turned and left the meeting without waiting for reply. The double doors closed behind him, leaving Lancelot, Merlin, and Arthur in the silent chamber together while Harry collected his coat and continued out of the shop. He didn’t look back as he continued down the street. 

 

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-230307  
Supplemental - Notated by Arthur

Current mission re-designated: ON HIATUS.

Agent will report to extraction via vessel at 0130 on 26.03.07 and continue to Tokyo to perform execution of target located in the Hotel Chinzanso by 28.03.07. All information will be contained within the Kingsman network within our suite at the Tokyo point, where agent is to lodge. 

Agent is to report to physician at extraction for a full accounting of her injuries acquired in field, and submit this report to her personnel file. Any change between now and then must be notated.  
Once completed, Agent is return to duties in North Korea with a renewed shipment of supplies on 01.04.07 at 2300 from arrival point, and remain in North Korea for further instructions. 

End of line.

 

Sophie read the report over and over, laughing only to wince and clutch her side. Japan! An entire week outside of these walls, surrounded by other people! Sophie couldn’t quite believe it, yet there it was in print for her to read. The 26th only gave her a few days to shut everything down before she left, so she began to make a mental list of everything that was to be done. She quickly sent her confirmation and then slowly pulled onto her feet, walking back and forth in the space as her ribs shifted below the bandage. She knew she had to be more mobile to complete her new mission, so she considered each painful step one closer to Tokyo as she pushed herself forward. She stopped before the mirror, frowning at her reflection before she grasped the salve and prepared to reapply it. _At least no one who knows me will be there,_ she thought, gently rubbing her side, _but maybe I could call Harry and hear his voice for a moment._

 

“Hey Tybalt!” James greeted jokingly as Harry answered his communication, “Have you had a look at fair Guinevere’s status feed this evening?”  
Harry sat up, setting his martini onto his desk, concerned. “Is everything alright?” he implored, only to hear James’ laughter through the glasses. Harry immediately began typing into the network, only to read the new mission order with a mild confusion. “Japan?” he asked aloud.  
“What, rouse thee, man! thy Guinevere is alive,” Lancelot recited, “There art thou happy? Arthur would kill thee, But thou slew'st Arthur, there are thou happy too!” Harry listened to his friend, clearly drunk with merriment and likely sherry, and smiled.  
“A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back,” Lancelot concluded, “Victory my friend! So, what’s next on your merry revolution?” 

“I suppose I’m off to Japan,” Harry said, relieved, “but James...”  
“As always,” Lancelot replied, “Your secret is safe with me.”


	9. Big in Japan, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stolen honeymoon, a sanctuary, and a terrible pop song.  
> Things are easy when you are Big in Japan...

“Ohayō, kingusumankasutamāsābisu. Anata no denwa o dono yō ni shiji suru koto ga dekimasu ka?”   
Sophie felt the click as the hydraulic closed around her and sealed her within the rowboat. The extra room from her weight loss would be considerably more comfortable if not for the pain in her right side, but Sophie was very grateful for Edwin’s added foam lining. 

“Kipper Solitaire calling,” she said crisply as she lay within the hidden compartment. She listened as the ringtone changed before a familiar British voice answered the line, “Good evening, customer complaints. How may I assist you?”   
“The Kipper is kicking,” Sophie said, “Kipper Solitaire.”  
“I understand.” The voice replied.  
“Board for Tokyo and hopeful for the bushelman.” Sophie said calmly.  
“All necessary alterations have been processed at this time,” the voice responded, “If the madam will refer to her receipt, collection will be made at the scheduled time,” the voice said.  
“I understand,” Sophie said, wincing slightly, “Thank you.”

Sophie felt the boat begin to move, and tried to relax as it was pulled through the water to a larger passing vessel. She paced her breathing, keeping it shallow to lessen her discomfort as the small boat rocked against the waves on its trajectory. After a time Sophie couldn’t quite determine from within the vessel, there was a sharp halt, sounding a metal scraping which sent mild vibrations through the boat and into the compartment. There was a final, locking sound before the hydraulic hatch lifted to release her. Sophie slowly rolled onto her back, looking up at two Kingsman medics who were waiting to assist her. “Are you my Jeff?” she said happily, offering her left hand slowly as they stepped into the boat to help lift her out. “Terribly sorry about my right arm,” she apologized, “it’s a bit sore but it’s not too serious. I’m just a bit weak with it at the moment. A bit of bruising, but it’s nothing really.”

“Let’s confirm that,” the first medic responded, nodding to the second who then went to prepare the sickbay as Sophie gained her balance in the large vessel, “Are you alright on your feet? No lightheadedness? How about nausea?” The medic quickly grabbed his penlight, shining it into Sophie’s eyes as she looked ahead, “Nothing like that. Just getting acclimated to the ship.”  
The medic nodded and took her elbow, carefully directing her as he continued to sickbay. “We received your initial reports and description of the injury,” he commented as they walked, “is there anything else you should add that wasn’t mentioned there?” Sophie thought for a moment, then shook her head, “I don’t believe so.” They entered sickbay, and Sophie was directed to a cot and asked to remove her clothing for examination. As she slowly removed her overcoat, piling each piece onto the cot, the two men readied the X-Ray and imaging scanner. 

“Kipper Solitaire…” the senior medic began, “can you confirm identity for me please?” Sophie was directed to a small plate, instructed to press her bare chest against it as she answered, “Agent Guinevere, Department of Grail Affairs, current designation NK05219, birthdate 10.07.69.” Sophie winced under her breath as she slowly lifted her right arm and stepped to his side to allow a second image to be taken. The medic pulled her information, adding the scans to her medical records as he read through her history. With both scans taken, Sophie returned to the cot and crossed her arms over her breasts for modesty. The second medic grabbed a couple of gloves and walked over, doing a visual exam of the bruising along her right side as she stood against the cot. “Well, the good news,” the senior medic explained as she looked at the scans, “There is no flailing in the chest. You’ve got three broken ribs, simple fractures all.”

“Well,” Sophie said, “that’s hardly worth all this fuss, isn’t it?” The medic looked over his monitor as Sophie grinned to herself. The second medic produced a large girdle, stripping a film of protective plastic from the underside and exposing a gel lining. “Pardon me, miss,” he murmured, signalling for her to lift her arms. Sophie did, lifting her breasts as he wrapped the belt around her and pressed the gel against he side. “Good old Edwin,” she commented, looking down. The medic finished, standing back to examine the application. “Indeed,” he replied simply. Sophie was offered a robe for modesty, her gear removed from the cot as the chief medic left his notation and returned to her. “You need rest to allow this to take effect. Can I offer you something for pain?” He offered, but Sophie refused. “Not even paracetamol?” he asked. Sophie smiled, shaking her head. “I don’t like to take anything in the field unless it is necessary.”

“Well, we will prepare a room for you immediately,” the second medic explained, “if you’ll simply wait here for a moment.” Sophie turned, pressing the pad on the cot beside her, which was far more comfortable than the one she had in her bunker. “I’m actually fine right here,” she countered, “unless I’ll be in the way.” The medics looked at one another before turning back to her and gesturing for her to make herself at home. “We will be in port in a few hours,” they explained, “from there, we have a van prepared which will safely transport you on to Tokyo while you continue to recuperate. We should have you there by tomorrow morning.” Sophie sat on the cot, taking the information into account. “Thank you both,” she said softly, realizing she had forgotten her formalities, “Thank you very much.” The medics each shook her hand before she reclined on the cot, “We’d just like to say,” the senior medic said, “it’s an honor, Guinevere.” 

 

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-260307  
Supplemental - Notated by ID-79260, Senior Medic

Medical evaluation of Agent Guinevere concluded. Three broken ribs, no flail (minor, greenstick fracture.) Administered gel compression girdle, paracetamol refused by agent. Patient advised rest and can return to duty by 28.03.07.

Please see attached scans. 

End of line.

 

The next morning, the doors of the The New Otani opened and Sophie entered and continued to the front desk. She held no luggage, only her wool overcoat, sunglasses, and a scarf to obscure her brutally short hair. She wasted no time checking in, anxious to shed the heavy tactical vest containing her weapons beneath her coat and give her sore ribs a bit of a rest.  
“Ohayōgozaimasu,” Sophie said pleasantly, “Watashi wa kingusumansuīto ga hitsuyōdesu ka? Yoyaku wa `kippā' no shita ni aru to omoimasu ka?” The clerk smiled brightly, keying in the information before her face changed as she read her computer screen. Looking over it and back to Sophie, she smiled before calling the manager, who approached eagerly and presented Sophie with an envelope. “Arigatōgozaimashita,” Sophie replied, tapping the envelope as she turned to step to the lifts. 

Opening the door to the “Hiroshige” suite, Sophie walked through the entrance foyer and crossed the living room in search of the closet. Upon finding it, Sophie cautiously felt for the seam along the wall and punched it to expose the hidden storage within. Sophie shed her coat, stripping the leather harness which held her guns and explosives and rested it inside the storage before closing it back and replacing the hotel supplies for camouflage. Though filled with every possible convenience, the suite seemed barren - too large for just herself, and Sophie felt like an animal in a cage. She remained in her silk slip and shoulder holster, but removed her shoes and left them with her coat on the floor of the closet as she slowly stalked through each room of the suite. Once she was confident that they were empty and secure, Sophie closed each room off, locking any door she could until she was closed into the large living and dining room. There she sat, silently listening.

 

At Heathrow, Harry could barely contain himself. He sat in the first class lounge, slowly turning his gin in a small circle along the bar as he watched the clock. In a matter of hours, he would be in the same place as his beloved after so long. Harry smiled. He had remembered absolutely everything - he knew it. Nothing had been overlooked, and all that lay before him was wonderful. He sipped his gin, hoping whatever Sophie was doing at that moment was peaceful and safe. “Mr. Bateman?” a clerk asked, “Your flight is about to board.” Harry smiled, nodding his comprehension as he grabbed his carry on and left the bar. “Thank you very much.”  
The attendant walked him to the plane, handing him over to the cabin crew and Harry took his seat. He stared at the glass of champagne, carefully going over his plan while the flight crew gave the safety information. Going dark meant leaving his Kingsman communicators and glasses behind, but Harry had only Sophie and their reunion on his mind, however the course.

 

Sophie stirred, wincing slightly as she lifted her cheek from her palm. She looked out across the wall of windows. Night had fallen over Tokyo, meaning Sophie must’ve slept the entire day. She stretched, rising and curling her toes into the rug as she slowly lifted and extended her right arm out against her wrapped rib cage. Once over her head, Sophie dropped her arms and walked slowly over to the kitchenette in order to make a cup of tea. She took a sip, forgetting how much richer quality tea was than the powder she had been drinking in the bunker. Everything here seemed louder, brighter, and more pungent and Sophie found the experience to be a jarring one. She knew it to be temporary, but she still hated it. Sophie stared out at the lights of the city as she sipped her tea, considering where to go from here. She felt exposed, both locked in and on display, but she felt in no way safe. Sophie finished the tea, leaving the cup on the coffee table.

She ripped open the envelope, read the information and removed the cash contained therein. She returned to the closet, collecting her shoes and overcoat and pocketing the cash. She took the key and left the suite, stepping over the notes concerning housekeeping as she went straight from the elevator to the street and continued out in the direction of the Hotel Chinzanso. The sooner her mission was complete, the sooner Sophie felt she’d be back to normal and able to make some sort of break out of this diversion. With that hopeful thought, Sophie began walking the five kilometers toward the target. She walked slowly, in no hurry as she took in the anonymity of the bold city. She pushed all thoughts from her mind, focusing only on the next task; which both made the task incredibly detailed and remarkably insignificant. Sophie wasn’t here to have opinions on her target - only to remove it. That was the only thing that mattered.

Sophie knew that was on the agenda for tomorrow, and she told herself that being close was most important given the target; but the truth is Sophie wanted to feel something that made sense - and being alone in that hotel suite simply wasn’t it. After two years, it wasn’t simply the proximity of people that she missed, but the closeness that people could bring. Without rapport, the entire world is simply another bunker. Sophie’s side hurt, so she stepped into the Akihabara, rented a capsule, and climbed inside. Inside it was quiet and dark, and Sophie immediately felt relieved. Across town, Harry arrived at the Otani hoping to surprise Sophie, but found the room empty. He looked around, uncertain as he sat on the sofa and gazed at her abandoned tea cup. He then reached into his suitcase, lifting the framed butterfly and resting it on the coffee table where it would be impossible to miss. With that warning, he retired to rest and wait for her. 

 

The next night, Sophie entered the Hotel Chinzanso, cutting through the empty lobby and taking the lift up to the target’s floor. Once it opened, Sophie observed the securing camera through her glasses and counted the relay seconds as detailed in her objective report. As the relay triggered, Sophie ran down the hall, counting off to herself as she set to picking the lock. _”One one-thousand, two one-thousand,”_ she thought, using Edwin’s magnetic canceller to trip the lock and open the door. As it tripped, opening the door, Sophie slipped inside before the five second relay brought the feed around to this hallway and capturing her on camera. Once inside, Sophie looked around but was alone inside. _One thing down,_ she thought, stepping into the darkened bathroom to pass the time before he returned. She only hoped he returned alone. A bystander would really do Sophie’s head in. Now, she could only wait. 

Harry had spent that day unpacking and placing everything just so throughout the suite. It was now filled with Sophie’s favorite things, and a few extra things to make the visit a special ones. He told no one other than Lancelot what he was doing, but he trusted Lancelot to help cover for him, and he meant to make every possible minute she was given special. Once everything had been laid out exactly so, Harry placed the No.3 at the kitchenette and the Clicquot in the cooler and set to shave and polish up. He wanted to look perfect when she first saw him. Everything about this surprise had to be perfect, because his bride deserves nothing less. When night fell and she had not returned, Harry left the suite and decided to return to the lobby and await her return in the garden lounge, which gave him a complete view of the lobby entrance. He purchased a local paper, pretending to read it as he gazed over it at the door at the traffic. 

Sophie listened as the key card beeped and the door opened. Standing in the dark of the bathroom, Sophie watched the target enter the room and close the door. Once she confirmed he was alone, she stepped forward. “Excuse me,” she called, firing him with a stun dart as he turned to face her. While he collapsed to the floor, Sophie tapped her glasses and waited for reply. “Guinevere,” Arthur called, standing in the control room beside Merlin, “go for Arthur.”  
“Seeking a confirmation of target,” Sophie said flatly, screwing the silencer to her pistol. She looked down at the target, who looked up at her confused and terrified.   
“Target confirmed,” Merlin replied, “you are a go, Guinevere.”   
“Wait!” the target called as Sophie quickly fired center mass, then forehead. She held her gaze, asking simply, “Everything recorded?” 

When Merlin confirmed and Arthur added, “Well done,” Sophie ended the call. Attaching her controlled descent device to the balcony rail, Sophie stepped over the edge and sailed calmly to the ground before ducking between the buildings. Sophie released the device, abandoning it as she walked calmly away from the alley and onto the bustling street. She knew that she needed to return to the Otani and find some way to finish her stay there. Just as she was wondering if she could somehow make a person-to-person call to her Harry, her glasses chirped and drew her attention. She tapped the side to accept the call, expecting to hear from Merlin when James’ voice came through. “Hello Birdy,” he said happily, watching her feed with his glasses.   
“Lancelot?” Sophie asked, “My goodness, it’s been so long. How are you?”   
“I’m better now,” he replied, “I’m just so glad to have the opportunity to say hello at long last.”

Sophie ducked into a shop, looking for something to cover her hair as she listened to Lancelot make small talk. She had missed the light, meaningless chatter of friendship more than she realised, as it seemed to bring her back to herself. “Then there’s Galahad,” Lancelot flirted.   
“What about him?” Sophie implored, her zeal evident. She looked at a few wigs, making a face as she continued to peruse. “Well,” Lancelot gossiped, “I just thought you might like to know that your dearest husband defended your honor to Arthur. With an audience, no less.” Sophie stopped looking about, focusing on the phone call. “How do you mean?” she asked curiously.  
“Arthur wasn’t going to call you in concerning your injury, and that was beyond the pale for Galahad. He told him what for, and said if you didn’t get some care he would make a formal complaint on record.” Sophie smiled, her cheeks warming at the thought, “My goodness.” 

“Indeed,” Lancelot continued, “So, try to enjoy for outing if you can. Harry would’ve died of that particular hill, and I don’t want you talking yourself out of taking some pleasure in it.” Sophie sniffed, entirely called out by her friend’s knowledge of her. “I will,” Sophie agreed, “I promise James. I will indulge a bit while here.”  
“That’s a girl,” James encouraged, “and buy that pink one you looked at. You’d be quite fetching in the pink.” Sophie looked back at the soft pink wig on display among the other colors and scratched her scalp. “Go on then,” Lancelot pressed, “then go have a drink. Enjoy this time while you have it. You can be dour in the bunker.”  
“Do you think I could try to call Harry?” Sophie wondered meekly, “like a trunk call? I wouldn’t want it to show up on the hotel bill, and if I initiate from the glasses, it will register on my field report.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Lancelot agreed, “tell you what: I’ll call him and advise him to contact you. You just return to the hotel and I’ll tell him to call on you after you’ve relaxed and had a nice drink. How does that sound?”   
“You’re a good friend, James,” Sophie replied gratefully.   
“I am the **best** friend,” Lancelot replied with a dry laugh, “now off with you - and buy that wig!”  
Sophie laughed, the sound of it traveling back to James’ thankful ears. He watched the feed as she collected the wig and purchased it before he signed off, returning to his drink alone in his flat. He hoped his words had been enough to push her into Harry’s surprise without squandering any more of the time they had. He loved Sophie, but she could talk herself out of any luxury at all. As her friend - he couldn’t allow that this time. He smiled alone as he thought of her joy to come. 

Harry closed the paper, folding it across his lap. It had been nearly 24 hours since his arrival, and he was trying not to worry about Sophie’s disappearance, but it was beginning to concern him. Just as he was beginning to wonder if he should risk exposure by making a call, the lobby doors opened and Sophie walked through them in her new pink wig. Harry stared at her as she walked past the garden lounge and continued to Bar Capri unaware. Harry immediately abandoned the newspaper, following Sophie into the bar and watching her take an unassuming seat in the corner. Other than the wig, she looked unusually plain: with no makeup, her face a bit gaunt from weight loss, and wearing her black wool swing overcoat. She was presentable, yet forgettable; reminding Harry of the purpose of this mission. Before she attracted the attention of any of the staff, Harry walked to the bar, placing an order to send to her from across the room. 

The bartender approached, placing a napkin on the table as Sophie tried to consider her first alcohol in over 20 months. Before she looked up to order, the waiter set a drink down in front of her. “From the gentleman at the bar,” he explained, “the Blue Canary.” Sophie immediately looked up at him, startled. She nodded, thanking the waiter as she blinked several times in a futile effort to calm herself. Her eyes swept the bar, searching until two businessmen parted and she caught a glimpse of Harry at the end of the bar. He was polished and perfect, looking back hungrily at her. Sophie froze, her heart in her throat, suddenly overwhelmingly self-conscious of her appearance yet Harry looked at her with such adoration that her expression softened completely. When she could finally will herself to move, her glance drifted down to the empty seat beside her and back up to him in a clear invitation. He took it straightaway. 

“May I join you?” Harry asked softly, standing at the table. Sophie swallowed hard, only able to muster an awkward nod in response. Harry smiled, taking the seat she gestured to beside her and immediately gripping her fingers with his as they rested on the bench seat between them. Nervously, Sophie took a healthy gulp of her drink as Harry caught a slight drip which spilled over the rim and flowed to her chin with his handkerchief. “How are you here?” she whispered.  
“I was in the neighborhood,” Harry joked, gazing at her face, “did you really think you’d surface and I wouldn’t be there waiting?” An affected sort of laugh escaped Sophie as she refocused on her drink, taking a slow careful drink the second time. Harry watched her, noting her timid demeanor but not remarking on it. He had taken her by complete surprise, and he did not want to distress her. When the waiter returned, Harry took charge. “Actually,” he instructed, “I rather think we’ll be having dinner in our suite this evening. Thank you.”

As the waiter left the table, Harry turned back to Sophie with a soothing tone. “Relax,” he calmly whispered, “take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” Sophie continued to sip her drink slowly, and Harry wondered how verbal she had been with anyone. It was, he reasoned, easier to perform for the job than to let your guard down - especially in public. He looked back at his wife, her face still obscured by her glass and he wondered how strong a ‘blue canary’ was. “It’s quite nice,” Sophie offered, “grapefruit.” She was speaking more to the glass than to him, but Harry did not care. “I admit, I had no idea what a ‘blue canary’ was,” he said, “only that there was one. I thought it might prove useful information someday.”  
“You romantic,” Sophie whispered.  
“You have no idea,” Harry breathed intensely.   
“Oh yes,” Sophie fired back, “I do.” 

Sophie finished the cocktail, and Harry gripped her hand as they stood to leave together. They entered the lift, standing stoically as each group they shared the lift with filed out until only they remained. “I’d kiss you,” Harry began, “but I wouldn’t be able to stop.” Sophie blushed deeply, looking down as the lift continued to their floor. “I’m just...so happy you are here,” she sighed. She seemed exhausted in a total way, as though these months of lean were catching up to this moment, yet her will to continue and push through was so incredibly strong. It was this resilience that Harry found so fascinating, for though he witnessed her fragile moments, she kept them expertly hidden from nearly everyone else. The lift opened, and Harry took Sophie’s hand as he walked to the suite. “We can pretend like we’re married,” Sophie playfully mused. Harry looked back, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her passionately as he pressed her against the wall. 

“The only time I’m not pretending is when I’m with you,” he said, breathless as he broke from her. Enveloping her hand in his, he opened the door and ushered her into the suite. 

Sophie stepped into the suite and immediately halted at the sight. Harry had filled the empty and sterile space with tokens of affection, spread throughout the living and dining rooms. Neatly folded and resting on the coffee table were months’ worth of sunday crosswords from The Times. Her favorite gin, No.3, was placed on the bar beside the dining room. Harry had even placed a beautiful framed butterfly in the center of the table; and as Sophie looked around the space seemed altogether warmer and more inviting. Harry walked up to Sophie as she looked out over the room, taking everything in, and wrapped a single hand around her waist. “You’re not working anymore,” he soothed, “let’s take this coat off.” He placed a gentle kiss to the back of her head as Sophie absentmindedly unclasped the hooks which held the coat closed and slipped from it, allowing Harry to pull it away from her. She remained in her slip, holster at her shoulders, as Harry draped the coat over one forearm and led her by hand to the bedroom. 

Inside the bedroom, Sophie sat on the bench at the edge of the bed while Harry carefully removed her holster from her shoulders. As he returned them to the compartment within the closet, Sophie looked around this room, noting Harry’s loving additions: her pajamas on the bed, her hand cream and her tea cup on her bedside table. The room was peppered with things to remind her of home. As Sophie looked at these things, her confusion and anxiety grew. Harry returned to her, dropping to one knee to assist her in removing her boots as she tried to understand everything taking place. “Wait…” Sophie said, reasoning as Harry stopped, “so I...get shot, then Arthur lets me out to do this cheesecake mission and then you’re just here? With all of...my favorite things, in some beautiful private place where we can be together?” Sophie reared back, slapping herself hard across the face before Harry caught her hand. 

“Please don’t do that, Canary,” he urged, concerned as he looked at the mark on her face. “You are going to bruise,” he lamented, lowering her hand and releasing it.   
“Is this real?” Sophie asked timidly. Harry touched her face, sorrowful at her confusion. “If I died,” she reasoned, “would I know it? We’re together, happily, everything is here…” Sophie said, gesturing to the bedside table, “It’s my cup, from your house. The one I dream of…” She looked over her shoulder at the Wedgewood resting on the bedside table as Harry replied, “Because I brought it my love. I brought all of this, for you. For us. Like a stolen honeymoon, but I promise you Canary,” Harry said directly, taking her face in his strong hands, “this is all very real. I give you my word on that - I came here, from London, to see you. That’s all.”   
Sophie nodded, but said nothing. Her hands rested in her lap as Harry removed her other shoe.

“I think,” Harry said, setting her shoes together at the foot of the bed, “a nice long soak would help right the vessel. Did you notice the bath? A jacuzzi big enough for two…” That idea seemed to stir Sophie, who looked up at him as he stood and began undressing. “Just,” Sophie pleaded softly, “slower.” Harry turned back to her, his coat just off his shoulders as she continued, “Please. Go slower. I want to memorise every bit.” Sophie’s eyes were alight with longing, and Harry slowed to a crawl, slipping the coat from his arms before tossing it to the side. His gaze never left her as he removed his cufflinks and belt, dropping them carelessly to his side as Sophie sighed lustfully. This made Harry smile, pausing at his tie, “Would you like to untie this?” he said, his eyebrow raised at the offer. Sophie lowered her gaze fleetingly, answering with a meek shake of her head, “I don’t want to move. In case I wake up.”

Harry’s smile faded slightly, which he covered with a reassuring nod as he slowly pulled his tie to remove it. “Don’t worry Canary,” he assured as he began to unbutton his shirt, “you won’t wake up. Nothing is going to interrupt us.” As Harry slowly peeled the shirt away from his shoulders, Sophie blinked slowly and replied, “Good. If I’m dead, clearly I am in Heaven.” The simple, emotionless delivery of her statement stopped Harry for a moment. He looked back at his wife, in her simple slip and candy floss pink wig, and he ached for her but found himself at a loss as to how to articulate it. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asked sincerely. Sophie clutched her elbow, turning her bare foot in against the rug. “You can’t just say I’m beautiful to avoid any uncomfortable situation. I’m not beautiful at the moment and we both know it.”  
“First of all,” Harry corrected, “yes, I bloody-well can. Second, I know no such thing. Come with me.”

Harry stood beside the bench, his hand extended patiently until Sophie took it and he pulled her along to the bathroom. Standing her before the full-length mirror, he admired her reflection while Sophie avoided it. “If only you could see what I see,” Harry cooed to her, “all these little sacrifices you have made for duty make me love you more - not less. We decorate men for less.” Sophie looked at him through the mirror, and removed her wig to expose her pixie-length hair. She said nothing, clearly ashamed of her dull skin and short hair. “So beautiful…” Harry whispered, kissing her ear and her neck, “So incredibly beautiful, Mrs. Hart.”  
Harry’s hands found the edge of the slip, lifting it as his fingers traced along her skin and stopped at the light scarring when she winced. Harry stepped back, carefully pulling the slip over Sophie’s head and leaving her nude before the mirror. He dropped the slip, gently hugging her.

“My bride is a warrior goddess,” he whispered, softly kissing her cheekbone, “Athena perhaps? No...Andraste.” Harry squeezed Sophie close to him as she turned her forehead and pressed it to his temple. “Please have a bath with me Goddess?” he asked, “I have missed you terribly.”  
Sophie nodded, and Harry turned to fill the tub with water. He helped Sophie step into it and take a seat before he left to prepare. Sophie stared at the water as it flowed into the bath, trying to feel everything through the barrier she had wrapped around herself. She should be overjoyed - she knew that - but she was paralysed by the fear that the moment she gives into this it will be snatched away. She felt the warmth of the water and tried to remember the last time she felt so warm and content. It was then she realized that Harry is in every memory she had of happiness or comfort as a woman. She reached over, turning the hot tap and increasing the temperature. 

Harry returned merrily, setting a gin and tonic along her side of the bath. As Sophie admired it, he poured a drizzle of lavender oil from a small bottle across the top of the bathwater. “What are you doing?” Sophie demanded, sitting up in the water, “Harry, I can’t have that! They can smell it, from yards and yards away!” Sophie was in panic, a far away look in her eyes as she tried to pull herself from the water. “Sophie,” Harry calmed, caressing her face, “that’s days from now. Everything is alright now.” Sophie’s eyes connected with Harry’s as he stroked her opposite cheek, easing her back into the water. “You aren’t Agent Guinevere right now,” Harry explained, “just try to be my Sophie. I know that can be hard, my love. Please just try.”  
Sophie was embarrassed of her outburst, sinking back into the water as Harry ceased the taps and stepped in to rest against the opposite side. Sophie stared at him, trying not to be emotional in her embarrassment and further spoil the night.

“What are you thinking of?” Harry asked, grasping one of Sophie’s feet and massaging it as he watched Sophie’s eyes slowly close at the sensation. Sophie relaxed against the wall of the jacuzzi, her eyes closed, and sighed. “You,” she answered, “I couldn’t make you up if you didn’t exist. Whatever did I do to deserve you?” Sophie reclaimed her foot, drawing down Harry’s chest and looking back at his prideful smirk. “Drink your gin,” he instructed, rubbing her other foot, “enjoy every well-deserved moment.” Sophie smiled, claiming her glass and taking a sip before holding it against her chest. “There it is, at long last,” Harry effused, “I came around the world to see that smile.” Sophie’s smile grew despite herself, and she covered her face to obscure the blush. “Oh Canary,” Harry cooed, “don’t hide from me. Not something so glorious.”   
Sophie widened her caged fingers, peering out from them and back at him, and he smiled.

“Shall we have something to eat after this?” Harry suggested, pushing the razor over Sophie’s calf as her foot rested on his shoulder. Sophie’s expression clouded as she tried to consider food, and Harry wondered what she’d eaten since arriving. “I don’t really have an appetite,” Sophie confessed, “maybe broth at most, but don’t let me stop you from eating my dearest.”  
“You need to eat something,” Harry reasoned, “have you eaten today at all?”   
Sophie looked back at him with an expression that gave her away without saying. “It’s just that,” she tried to explain, “it’s been so long since I’ve eaten a real meal...I wouldn’t want to become ill.” Sophie’s eyes left him, focusing on the memory as her face seemed suddenly ashen.  
“Is it horrible, inside that place?” Harry asked gently, unable to stop himself.  
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sophie replied simply, falling silent and withdrawing from him. 

Harry gently returned her leg to his shoulder in silence. He rinsed the razor, and returned to shaving before he replied, “As you wish.” Sophie continued to sip her gin as he gingerly shaved her legs, letting the alcohol take serious effect since it’s absence. She set the emptied glass beside her and relaxed in the water, inhaling the lavender in the air. Her shoulders relaxed and Harry felt relieved as he observed her. He knew there would be some anxiety - how could there not be? Yet seeing her nervous, agitated state filled him in equal parts with affections for her and anger for Arthur. Her mission had been unreasonable for a single agent, and never should have been given to her. Harry rinsed the razor as he looked at her face, wanting this visit to be therapeutic in every possible way but also considering for the first time that it might be in her best interest to return to London now, while the damage of solitude was still minimal. 

“I will sit with you while you eat,” Sophie offered, “please don’t refrain on my part.” Sophie partnered this comment with a meek, self-aware smile, which only made her look tired. “Perhaps later,” Harry said, “I have a better idea.” With that, he unstopped the bath and stood to leave it before returning with a warm towel for Sophie. He caressed her upturned cheek in his large hand, but before he could remark on it Sophie blurted out, “My Lord, you are handsome. I could grow old and die, just looking at you.” Harry traced his thumb lightly across her lower lip before responding, “So you’ve promised me, remember?”  
He opened the towel, extending it as Sophie lifted from the bath and stepped out. Wrapped in the soft cotton, she left the bath and went straight for the bedroom. “I’m sorry for refusing to discuss work,” Sophie said, surprising Harry. “Always pushing away - she’s right.” 

Sophie flopped across the bed, rubbing her cheek against the soft down duvet and sighed as her body relaxed into it. “What do you mean?” Harry asked, collecting her towel to return it to the bath. “I do that,” Sophie sleepily replied, “I push people close to me away. I keep them at bay. She told me I do that and she was right.” Harry returned, collecting her cream from the bedside table. Scooping an ample amount into his hands to warm it, he sat beside her resting body and rubbed the cream into her back. Her skin quickly absorbed it as he rubbed in circles, listening. “I don’t think you push me away, and you have reasons. Who told you this?” he inquired. Without stirring, Sophie responded simply, “My mother. She showed up after I prayed for comfort last year, but she wasn’t real.” Sophie yawned, but Harry paused, concerned by this.  
“She showed up?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light and curious, to not make her defensive.

“Mm-hmmm,” Sophie hummed, “insisted she was there, but I don’t believe prayer works in that fashion. I don’t care what she knew about David Bowie…” Harry rubbed the cream into her back, his consideration now turned to worry. He wanted to know more about these conversations she was having with people who were not there, but while he tried to form his words, Sophie had fallen fast asleep. Harry slowly lifted, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on her head before he crept from the bedroom to order room service. The visit had so far been quite different than Harry had expected; but as he sat in the silent living room with Sophie merely a room away he found himself strangely serene. He would continue to keep an eye on her behavior, trying to remind himself that one doesn’t simply shake off two years in isolation. He thought of her smile and looked to the door that separated them. She was safe, and with him. Nothing else mattered. Harry resolved to finish his meal and join her - and not to waste a moment.

 

It was still dark when Sophie stirred, rolling to her side and opening her eyes. Beside her, Harry lay snoring softly in the large bed. Sophie looked at him, the previous day returning to her as the haze of sleep settled. She was in Japan, with three days to spare, and her man had come to her. “Harry?” she called softly, crawling across to him. Sophie leaned over him, pressing her breasts to his chest and running her finger through his hair. “Harry…” she whispered again, her longing sweetening her voice as he stirred. “Sophie?” Harry replied sleepily, wrapping his arms around her as she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. As he roused, he parted his lips, caressing her face as she kissed him passionately. “You’re really here,” Sophie whimpered, kissing him with renewed intensity as Harry embraced her in her frenzied passion. Her hands slipped up his body as she pressed to him, enraptured by the contact they shared.

Harry kissed her cheek and neck as she remained draped over him, his hands cupping her neck and the small of her back. “Tell me what you desire,” he whispered into her ear, “anything my dearest. Absolutely anything.” Sophie looked deeply into his eyes, her lip trembling as she tried to articulate her thoughts. She looked down, kissing along his shoulders and chest as she thought of what to say. Harry simply stroked her hair, letting her find herself patiently as he looked up at the ceiling happily. “I’d like to feel you,” Sophie described, “your weight atop me, pressing me down into the bed and containing me there. I want to feel your gravity, if that makes any sense.” Sophie looked as though she were unsure of her words, yet the immediacy of her craving stirred Harry to his core. “It makes perfect sense Canary,” he said solemnly, “let’s see.” Harry grasped Sophie’s wrist, flipping her away from his chest and laying her onto her stomach.

Sophie had not imagined being face down, but as soon as she was in the position with her cheek pressed to the mattress it felt perfect. Sophie sighed, anxious for her lover as she rested her palms out at either side. Harry carefully lay on top of her, nuzzling her ear as he pressed to her. “Do I feel real to you now?” he whispered into her ear as she gasped, breathing excitedly. He playfully bit her earlobe and she moaned blissfully as he slipped his hand under her and down her stomach, lifting her hips against his in one forceful motion. Sophie succumbed to his command immediately, sinking into the soft mattress as Harry laced his fingers between hers and gripped both hands with his. She lifted her hips, eagerly pressing her backside to Harry as she felt his breath spill over her shoulder. All she could feel was the pressure of his weight pressing down upon her, and the pounding of her heart as she held her breath in anticipation.

Harry lifted slightly, kissing between her shoulder blades as he left one hand and slowly guided himself into her. To his surprise, Sophie cried out in delight at the feel of him. Her enthusiasm unbridled, Harry responded in kind, returning his hand to hers and hugging himself to her as he continued deep and rhythmic thrusts. Sophie made no effort to conceal or refrain from her strained moans - each soft and wispy in their beatific tenor. Harry rested his head against her shoulder, drunk with ecstasy as he listened to her pleasure. They had missed one another so much that the coming together seemed to enthrall them completely. Harry picked up his pace, grasping Sophie’s knee and spreading her legs in order to press even closer to her as he reached under her to stroke her clit with his fingers. Her response was immediate as he whispered to her, “That’s it, pet. Give yourself to me.”

Sophie moaned wildly, whimpering as she soaked him, coming almost immediately. Her zeal seemed the necessary ingredient, for moments later Harry stopped, releasing himself deep within his wife. For a moment, he simply remained on top of her, both breathless from their twilight tryst. Harry then lifted, allowing Sophie to roll onto her side before engaging her in a passionate kiss. “I have missed you so much,” she gushed as Harry held her forehead to his, before kissing her a second time. “I’m going to freshen up,” she whispered merrily, pulling from him and turning to stand. Harry lay flat on his back, euphoric as she left. “Come back to bed,” he called sweetly as she stepped to the washroom. Sophie returned moments later, only to find Harry was deeply asleep. Not wanting to wake him, she carefully covered him with the duvet before grabbing her robe and retreating to the living room alone.

Harry stirred some hours later, and finding himself alone in the bed went in search of Sophie in the suite. He found her, sitting on the floor with her forehead pressed to the glass window. “Good morning Harry,” Sophie said kindly, snacking from a plate on the floor beside her. “I thought I’d see the sunrise, but I missed it,” Sophie lamented, “I only walked away for a minute and I missed it. I’ve never seen a sunrise, not a proper one. In the field you see dawn break but no sun.” Sophie’s focus never left the window, where she sat peering out over Tokyo in the morning light. Harry noticed her snacking had come from his discarded room service the night before, and made a face. “Canary, let’s order you a proper breakfast,” he suggested, attempting to take the plate only to have Sophie stop him. “It’s OK Harry,” she protested pleasantly, adding with a whisper, “I don’t really want to waste all of this.” 

Sophie gestured to the plate with her hands, but Harry held onto the plate. “It’s been out all night,” he gently explained, “and it could make you sick. We can order new food, alright Canary?” Sophie released the plate, defeated, “I’m not really hungry anymore anyway.”   
Harry carried the plate back to the dining room, looking back at Sophie as she gazed out the window. He was unsure how best to handle this situation, as her ideas are entirely practical in the field. Given that she would be returning to that field in a few days, should he risk upsetting her during this brief time. He looked at the plate, imagining her eating his leftovers and he reconsidered: maybe she should be coming home with him. It was then he had an idea. “Sophie,” he called, “you said we should pretend like we were just married. If that’s true, and this is our honeymoon, you certainly wouldn’t have leftovers then. We’d want to dine out, celebrate.”

Sophie looked back at him, considering this. Pleased with his success, Harry walked over and sat beside her on the floor. He held her hand, lifting it and kissing her fingertips. “Since we’re pretending,” Sophie suggested, “let’s just run away together. With our skills we could go anywhere.” Sophie’s forehead wrinkled as she concluded, “We’d never have to go back.”  
“We could…” Harry agreed, “but I think we might miss London. You’d surely miss your vicar, and the beauty of home. All the wonderful things in our city.”   
Sophie sighed, nodding, “I suppose that’s true. We can’t run away, even if it seems exciting in the moment.”  
“We could always go home,” Harry offered, “just get on a first class flight, sleep in our own bed, back in London. That’s always an option.”

“How would we do that?” Sophie asked cautiously. Harry looked into her eyes and flashed his most reassuring smile, “We could file a 4386, sign a few papers and you could come home with me.” Sophie stared out at nothing for several moments, puzzled by his suggestion, and Harry realized that win or lose, he must now stay the course. “A 4386 is a declaration of agent exhaustion,” Sophie replied coarsely, “do I appear exhausted to you?”  
“Well,” Harry tried to reply kindly, “yes.”  
Sophie stood, pacing in the living space before him. “Well, I’m not. I am a little out of sync, but it’s been two years Harry. I’m entitled to a bit of a grace period.”  
“Exactly,” Harry reasoned, “two years is a considerable period of time. Any agent would understand fatigue in this situation.”

“Did…” Sophie asked, near tears, “did Arthur send you? For this?”   
“What?” Harry immediately answered, “No. Canary, no one knows I’m here except James.”  
“Well I am not exhausted,” Sophie demanded, “and I’m not quitting. I’m sure that Arthur would just love it if I caved in but this work is **important**. It’s too important, Harry.” Sophie continued pacing, biting her thumb as she shook her head. “I haven’t sacrificed 21 months to quit now, when I can see this through. Introducing this destabilizing agent to their stockpile could mean the failure of all of their fissionable materials, do you understand?” Harry nodded, lowering his gaze. “Good,” Sophie concluded, “because I might actually be saving the whole world - and for a long time to come. Isn’t that worth being a little exhausted?” Sophie knelt down, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder, “Please don’t take this away from me. I need you to believe in me.”

“I always believe in you,” Harry replied, “It just that I also always worry. But I **always** believe in you.” Harry traced a hand down the side of Sophie’s face as she smiled. “Get dressed,” Harry instructed, “we’re going out for lunch.” Sophie looked flustered, looking down at her robe when he replied, “in the closet, Canary.” Sophie smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek before she stood to check the closet. “No rush,” he called out to her, “it’s early yet. We have plenty of time.” Harry walked over to the telephone, calling the restaurant to book. After that, he accepted that his hope of getting her to come home was essentially dead. He still held his reservations about her being in those conditions, but it was quite obvious that the work she was doing was far too important to her to make the case against it. She would never forgive herself if she were forced to give it up. She needed his support - and that was that.

Harry looked at the clock - 10:04AM. Realizing he was also still in a robe, he too set to dressing for the day. He walked into the bedroom, passing through to the bathroom when he saw Sophie, standing in the closet looking over all the things Harry had carefully packed to bring her. “You remembered everything,” she said, “the accessories, the shoes, everything. It’s all here.” Sophie simply looked around and back to Harry, holding her heels to her chest. Harry smiled, prideful at her happiness. “I love you,” he said simply, “very, very much.”   
He then continued to the bathroom, leaving her to select her ensemble in privacy while he shaved. He returned, thinking she might like to see him dress and discovered her struggling with a zipper. Saying nothing, he walked up and zipped the back of the dress before kissing the back of her neck. “Thank you,” she said, “It’s not too big, is it? I’ve lost so much weight.”

“You look beautiful,” Harry dismissed, “top drawer Canary.” Harry slipped into his shirt as Sophie stopped fussing with her hair and opened the drawer as instructed. She gasped, lifting a Harrods bag from the drawer. “I thought,” Harry explained, “your makeup must certainly be expired at this point, so I took your bag to Harrods and a very nice woman named Carol helped me replace the lot. I do hope that isn’t breaking some sort of covenant: opening a lady’s cosmetic bag.”   
Sophie simply stared at him as he buttoned his shirt before locating his cufflinks from the rug and replacing them. “Thank you Harry,” she whispered, clutching the bag as she walked into the bathroom to apply the makeup. Harry was sitting in the living room when Sophie emerged, her makeup flawless and the ensemble impeccable. She was radiant, and he was speechless. He stood, gesturing for her to walk ahead of him as they left the suite for their lunch appointment.


	10. Big in Japan, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie and Harry continue their secret getaway in Japan. 
> 
> Sophie's favorite book is: "Right Ho, Jeeves" by PG Wodehouse, excerpt featured in this chapter.  
> It's quite good - check it out.
> 
> The Eurotrash Sophie also loves is Alphaville's "Big in Japan" and its...80s. Very 80s.
> 
> Hope you're enjoying it so far!

The lift ascended, opening on the revolving bar atop The Hotel OTANI and Harry and Sophie exited together. The host showed them to their private room, leaving them alone while Sophie walked to the window to take in the view. The room turned, giving a complete view of city below. “I thought you might enjoy the view,” Harry remarked, “without too much pressure to go out into the city.” Harry rested a hand at the small of her back, “It can be quite garish, the city. Nicer to appreciate from a distance when one wants to relax.” Harry had a brilliant talent for presenting his case with a special consideration for the audience. When he suggested staying in might be more comfortable, he did so without implying the idea was to benefit anyone - especially Sophie. “Come,” he said, taking her hand, “proper date. Let’s take our seats and have a bit of lunch.” He kissed her hand, leading her away from the window and pulling out her chair. 

Sophie’s original order of beef consomme eventually gave way to a bit of sushi and finally noodles. Harry watched her over his steak, silently pleased to see her appetite return. However, it was when he quipped about her wake up service and Sophie laughed that Harry truly felt his first real wave of relief. To him, Sophie’s laugh rang out with such genuine gaiety that it registered as one of the truly great experiences in his life. He lived to make his beloved laugh, and at long last he was indulging in that experience. He simply smiled as her laughter slowly faded, lingering in her cheeks with a faint blush. “Do you know what I would very much enjoy?” Harry proposed, “I’d love to take you across to the bar and buy you a cocktail. Out in public, both of us together - what say you?” Sophie set her napkin on the table, drawing Harry out a moment before replying, “Are you quite confident you could buy me a drink? My goodness…”

Her impertinent flirtation surprised and excited Harry. It had been a long time since they had flirted; the playful nature of such exchanges made incredibly difficult in the time they shared. To see her making use of the time now could only be described as arousing. His lingering observance trailed down from her eyes and rested fruitfully southward while his expression left the realm of gentleman altogether. “I’ll take my chances,” he said silkily, returning his focus to her eyes, “some pursuits belie the true grandeur of their reward.” Sophie blushed, licking her lips in response. “Well, it won’t be so easy this time,” she warned him, “It’s going to take more than a glass of gin to take me back to your room, unlike last time.”   
“That’s all it took the **first** time,” Harry mocked.   
“You came back to **MY** room the first time, Harry.” Sophie corrected with a scoff. 

“In fact, should I buy you the drink?” Sophie asked, rising from her seat, “Just to ensure a success?” Harry stared up at her, a devilish smirk on his face that she simply dismissed as she extended a hand across the table. “Best of luck,” she remarked, shaking his hand and leaving the table. Stopping at the door, she turned back and reiterated, “I’ll just be in the bar, then. Across the...oh, you’ll find it.” Sophie dismissed with her hands in an animated fashion as Harry sat amused by her lighthearted ribbing. He signed the check, taking his time to allow her to settle in without appearing to be waiting for anyone. Her words, steeped in their confident allure, lingered in his mind as he left the private room, set to pretend to chat up his wife in the neighboring bar. He entered, looking around the tables that line the windows before he spied her sitting at the main bar alone. Harry adjusted his cufflinks before making his way over to the bar.

“Pardon me,” he asked, “is this seat taken?” Sophie glanced in his direction briefly, and with a shake of her head replied simply, “No.” She returned to the wine list without further comment, leaving Harry to consider his strategy.   
“U~isukī 1tsu,” Sophie ordered, “mizu to mazete kudasai. Ichirō no morutoshingurukyasuku.”  
“Hai,” the bartender replied, making her drink. Sophie turned the menu over, looking out into the bar. The bartender returned, placing the pale gold liquid in front of Sophie before leaving her. Harry watched patiently as Sophie took her first sip and watched the afternoon sun through the windows. “Would you recommend your drink?” Harry broached, “I’m here on business and I haven’t a clue what to order.”   
“It is delicious, but this whiskey is ¥7,500,” Sophie smirked, “unless you’re on a company card...”

Sophie’s smirk grew as he returned it mischievously. “Perhaps a gin would be more sound,” Harry commented. Sophie shrugged, returning to her whiskey as Harry ordered his gin and tonic with his limited Japanese. “Are you alright there?” she asked, responding to his challenged vocabulary. Harry scoffed, flashing a brilliant smile with a slight shake of his head as his drink arrived. “It would appear so,” he replied with relief, “thank you, Miss…?”   
“Solitaire,” Sophie replied, “but some people call me Gwen.”  
“Harold Bateman,” Harry replied, “Harry.”  
Sophie lifted her glass, tapping it against Harry’s in toast. “Cin cin,” he said.  
“Kampai!” she replied, “What brings you to Japan, Mr. Bateman?”  
“I’m in sales,” Harry answered, “and yourself? You speak Japanese quite well, are you local?”

“No,” Sophie smiled, leaning over to Harry, “I’m a secret agent. Don’t tell anyone.” Sophie raised a single finger to her lips as Harry shifted slightly closer to her. She dropped her finger, returning to her upright posture with a smirk. “That must be terribly exciting,” Harry mused, taking a drink of his gin as he studied Sophie’s body slowly.   
“Not really,” Sophie lamented, “you would think so but it’s boring more often than not. There’s so much paperwork.” Sophie shrugged as Harry nodded. There was a note of truth in Sophie’s summation. “Makes my modest computer sales seem a bit tedious,” he remarked aloud. Sophie glanced at him, sliding her glass in his direction. “I’ve not got the lurgi,” she commented, “go on - live dangerously.” Harry hesitated before lifting the glass and taking a sip. His eyebrows raised as he returned the glass, his fingers brushing hers as the glass passed back to her. 

“Wow,” he admitted, which made Sophie smile before she took the final drink. She set the glass back onto the bar for collection. “See, if I were going to poison you,” Sophie quipped, “that’s exactly how I would’ve done it. Lucky for you, I quite like Englishmen.”  
“Is that why I can’t feel my body?” Harry joked, “I thought that might have something to do with you.” Sophie gasped softly, blushing at his comment. While she remained silent, smiling at his compliment, Harry signaled to refill their order. “This one is on me,” he assured, “a thank you for sparing my life. One English person to another.”   
“Oh, I’m not English,” Sophie corrected in her poshest accent, “being a secret agent, I just use the accent. I’m from North Carolina.”  
This information made Harry laugh softly as their drinks arrived, and he lifted his to her. 

“You are a most charming liar,” he complimented, as Sophie giggled.  
“And you are a very ambitious salesman,” she replied, taking a long slow sip of her whiskey. Harry touched her earlobe, leaning it for a soft kiss when Sophie turned away from him and slowly inhaled the whiskey's aroma. “I can be Gwen Solitaire in this space,” she whispered, “but not Sophie Hart. Not here.” Sophie tucked her thumb into her fist and gave a squeeze before she tossed back the remainder of her whiskey. “The very best of luck with your business, Mr. Bateman,” Sophie wished, shaking his hand as she stood. She quickly left, while Harry remained at the bar. She had slipped so seamlessly into a character that Harry simply thought she was being playful until his attempted kiss. Harry had been completely taken in by her method, and now hoped not to miss her outside. He quickly signed the check and exited the bar. 

Sophie was just leaving the ladies’ room when he reached the lift. She said nothing, walking over and standing beside him. “I’m sorry,” Sophie said, “and I might also be slightly spiffed.”   
“You don’t need to explain anything to me,” Harry said softly, “I am on your team.” Harry looked down at her as the lift opened, “Thank you for trying, Gwen.”   
She sighed and they both entered the lift. Sophie winced slightly as the doors closed. “I’m out of practice for heels,” she admitted, “my feet are killing me.” Harry looked down, dropping to a knee and removing each heel from her sore feet before standing, holding the shoes. Sophie moaned softly, turning and lifting onto her toes to hug his neck. “Harry…” she moaned softly in the privacy of the lift, and Harry bent slightly to lift her in his arms. The lift opened on their floor and he carried his dearest wife, her small feet dangling from his arms, down the corridor to their suite. 

Harry set his tipsy bride onto the bed, unzipping her dress for her. “May I make you a cup of tea?” he offered, “I have your chamomile. Fortnum and Mason.”   
Sophie hummed gratefully, “That would be gorgeous my love.”   
Harry smiled, leaving for the kitchenette while Sophie undressed and slipped into her pajama top and settled onto the bed. “I’m not any good at being Sophie right now,” she called to him as he returned with the prepared teapot. “Tosh,” Harry dismissed, “how can one be bad at being themselves?” He poured Sophie a piping cup before resting the pot on the bedside table.   
“Any good for you,” Sophie explained, “Guinevere is easy. That’s like an autopilot: just focus on your objective. But Sophie hasn’t… read a book or seen the newspaper in two years. I have no new stories or interests, I’m just a blank. All I can think of is that silly 80s song.”

Harry returned from his washbag, sitting on the bed beside Sophie. He captured Sophie’s hand as she flailed it lightly, demonstrating her words, and began massaging it with his. “I don’t know it,” he remarked, stopping to apply cuticle oil to her nail beds from his washbag before he returned to the massage. Sophie moaned softly, “It was dreadful,” she added with a chuckle, “...then I’ll sleep by your side, Things are easy when you’re big in Japan…” Sophie trailed away, closing her eyes as she remembered the lyrics, “It’s the worst of Eurotrash.”  
“You love Eurotrash,” Harry playfully chided, making Sophie laugh aloud.  
“I do,” she confessed, “it’s true.” Harry switched hands, oiling her opposite hand before he drew his fingers over her hands in small circles as her laughter decayed, breaking down in frequency.   
“May I be dreadful, Harry?” Sophie asked softly, relaxing against the bed.  
“Not even if you really tried,” Harry answered, “even your talents have limits.”

Sophie opened her eyes, gazing up at Harry’s radiant smile. “The touch is what I missed the most,” she acknowledged, “thank you my love. And I really do want to talk because I miss the rich tenor of your lovely voice, but I just don’t have anything to talk about. My mind is a complete blank. Is it okay if I just sit here and enjoy being with you quietly?” Harry drew a deep breath, sighing as he admired his wife in silence. He then placed her hand onto her stomach and stood over her. Bending down, he placed a soft kiss on her lips before he crossed the bed and removed his shoes and slacks. He removed his cufflinks and his shirt and returned to his side of the bed, removing a book from his bedside table. Climbing into bed, he opened the book and removed the worn bookmarker, clearing his throat:

 

__

_And I'll tell you why I was blowed. I found it scarcely possible to give credence to his statement. This Fink-Nottle, you see, was one of those freaks you come across from time to time during life's journey who can't stand London. He lived year in and year out, covered with moss, in a remote village down in Lincolnshire, never coming up even for the Eton and Harrow match. And when I asked him once if he didn't find the time hang a bit heavy on his hands, he said, no, because he had a pond in his garden and studied the habits of newts. I couldn't imagine what could have brought the chap up to the great city. I would have been prepared to bet that as long as the supply of newts didn't give out, nothing could have shifted him from that village of his. "Are you sure?"  
"Yes, sir."   
"You got the name correctly? Fink-Nottle?"   
"Yes, sir."_

Sophie rolled over, cuddling close to Harry’s chest as he read aloud in the bedroom. “Oh,” she purred, “my favorite book. Thank you my dearest. It’s Heaven, hearing your voice.” Harry squeezed her tightly to him with one hand, his eyes shining as he continued to read to her: 

 

__

_"Well, it's the most extraordinary thing. It must be five years since he was in London. He makes no secret of the fact that the place gives him the pip. Until now, he has always stayed glued to the country, completely surrounded by newts."  
"Newts, Jeeves. Mr. Fink-Nottle has a strong newt complex. You must have heard of newts. Those little sort of lizard things that charge about in ponds."  
"Oh, yes, sir. The aquatic members of the family Salamandridae which constitute the genus Molge." _

_"That's right. Well, Gussie has always been a slave to them. He used to keep them at school."  
"I believe young gentlemen frequently do, sir."  
"He kept them in his study in a kind of glass-tank arrangement, and pretty niffy the whole thing was, I recall. I suppose one ought to have been able to see what the end would be even then, but you know what boys are. Careless, heedless, busy about our own affairs, we scarcely gave this kink in Gussie's character a thought. We may have exchanged an occasional remark about it taking all sorts to make a world, but nothing more. You can guess the sequel. The trouble spread."_

Harry stopped briefly, touching Sophie’s hair. “Are you asleep, my love?” he asked softly. Sophie shook her head, sniffing as she lay across his lap and lightly dozed. “Very good then,” he replied, returning to the story. Sophie hugged to his midsection, yawning as she held to him and listened to his rendition. It was the perfect way to finish the day together - on that, they both agreed. Harry continued reading until well after he was certain she was asleep, hoping his voice carried as she slipped deeply into restful sleep. Tomorrow was a new day, filled with more time to spend together, and Harry already looked forward to it. He gently shifted below Sophie, reaching for the light while hoping not to wake her. He looked forward to another day after all, but not the coming of the end of the trip. These quiet moments, where he could look upon her and know she was safe - those, he decided, could pass as slowly as possible.

 

Harry stretched out across the sofa, his socked feet crossed at the ankle. Sophie sat across his lap, chewing idly at the end of her pen as she studied a crossword puzzle from the stack on the coffee table. Harry wrapped an arm around her waist, stroking her robe idly as she filled in each answer before discarding the solved puzzle at the foot of the sofa. They had whiled away the entire morning in the glorious silence of their shared company, with Sophie filling boxes and Harry sneaking whiffs of her hair. He brushed his nose against her pixie-short hair, kissing the back of her neck as she rested against him. “I don’t really miss talking in that place,” Sophie sighed, “but I do miss touch. Especially touching you.” Sophie took Harry’s hand, squeezing it between hers and kissing his fingertips. Harry responded merrily, bouncing her in his lap as she giggled and collapsed against him. There she remained, dreamy and still.

Harry nuzzled her earlobe, holding her tightly to him as she looked up at the ceiling. “It’s the little things that one misses the most,” she volunteered, “the proper cup of tea, warm feet, the taste of your lover…” Sophie glanced back at Harry, who cupped her cheek and brushed his lips against hers slowly. “Seems like the harder you try to remember those things, the more elusive they can become in a place like that. The mind can be unnecessarily cruel.” Sophie’s expression clouded, catching Harry’s attention immediately. Still holding her cheek, Harry caressed it with his thumb until her smile slowly returned. “The light of love, the purity of grace,” he recited, “The mind, the music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonised the whole — And, oh! That eye was in itself a Soul!”   
“Do not bowdlerize my overture,” Sophie scolded playfully, biting Harry’s thumb.  
“Bowdlerize?” Harry protested, “Canary - that was Byron.”

“Byron is lovely,” Sophie admitted, “but my thinking was more in keeping with the Marquis de Sade...” Upon saying this, Sophie slipped his thumb completely into her mouth and sucked it intently. Harry sighed softly, ripping her robe open with his opposite hand and running his palm down between her legs. Sophie gasped as his fingers slowly parted her lips and began stroking her, releasing his thumb as she did. Harry drew it down her chin, clutching her breast as she leaned in to kiss his lips. “I want you,” she panted, pulling back only to return for a deep, passionate kiss. Harry released his hold as Sophie turned her body to his, supporting her back as she worked to open his trousers. “Do you ever wish we were someone else?” Sophie asked, “Maybe…I could be a housewife, waiting at the door for you. I’d have your slippers and a martini waiting, and when you sat in your leather office chair I would take you in my mouth and relieve all your stresses.” 

Sophie opened his pants, reaching into them to stroke him as he listened, “You could be…” she imagined, “hm. Not a Lord or a Master. What shall I call you?” Harry sat up, lifting Sophie by her shoulders as he lifted. Taking her hands, he pulled her to her feet and into his embrace. “Come to the bedroom,” he pleaded, kissing her neck, but Sophie resisted. She gasped, her eyes going wide as the answer came to her. “No,” she breathed seductively, “it should be professor. I could be your eager assistant, always ready to accommodate and serve. What say you, Professor?” Harry looked up at her, his excitement transparent as he studied her body and she wrapped her hands around his neck. “You _are_ a very dedicated student,” he murmured softly, “perhaps I could afford a private lesson if it would,” Harry swallowed, “stimulate your intellectual curiosity.”  
“Please professor?” Sophie cooed, “Please show me how you pin your butterflies.” 

“Well, pet,” Harry began, “first you have to ensure the specimen is supple and well-hydrated.” Harry grasped her hips, giving them a squeeze as he hoisted her up and wrapped her knees around his waist. “Once you have ensured that your beautiful specimen is also relaxed and flexible,” Harry continued, squeezing her ass as Sophie giggled, “you can grip it by the thorax and gently spread the wings.” Harry brushed his nose against Sophie’s, pausing for a moment to consider his next move when she suggested, “Is that when you move it to the glass, Professor?” Sophie smiled, her inspiration stirring Harry to change his direction from the bedroom and to the large window of the suite. “Very good pet,” Harry instructed, “one must be extra careful here, for the wings are delicate and easily broken.” He lowered Sophie’s feet to the floor, slipping her robe from her shoulders and letting it drop to her feet. 

As her naked body rested against the window, Harry simply stared at her. “One…” he muttered adoringly, “should take every care to preserve the beauty of the specimen. Moving too quickly, or without regard, could spoil the entire endeavor.” Sophie licked her lips slowly, her eyes following him as he anxiously kept the ruse. She moaned softly, raising her hands above her and slowly drawing them down her to her sides. “I think it’s ready to be pinned, Professor” she enticed. Harry watched, resisting for a fleeting moment before he charged her and kissed her forcefully. Grabbing her right leg and lifting it against the glass, he entered her as he pressed her to the window and continued at a frenzied pace. “Oh, Professor!” Sophie gushed, her voice hushed, “You make every lesson come alive for me. It’s so thrilling under your ample tutelage.”  
“You are a perfect student,” Harry replied, “so open to the thrust of new ideas and methods.” 

Sophie ran her hands through Harry’s hair, gripping it in between her fingers as he thrust with increased abandon. “Teach me,” Sophie whispered, her lips quivering near Harry’s ear, “you’re so terribly clever, Professor. Fill me with your wisdom.” Sophie drew her nose across his neck as Harry grabbed her wrist and pinned them over her head and held them to the glass. Now deep inside Sophie, he set to grinding against her engorged and throbbing clit. Sophie surrendered to the intensity, her eyes rolling back as she pleaded, “Please Professor. Please...”   
Harry released her wrists, softly tracing her face. Her eyes were closed, yet he studied her bliss with a singular devotion. “That’s it pet,” he whispered sweetly, “you’re my very favorite student. I wouldn’t…want to teach anyone else. Only you.” Sophie writhed, crying out as she lunged forward and hugged to Harry’s neck. He withdrew, simply holding her close to him. 

“Very good,” he soothed, rubbing her back as she held him, “my beautiful Canary.” Sophie looked up, kissing his lips softly and rubbing his nose. Before Harry could say anything more, Sophie lowered to her knees and began licking his still-firm shaft. Harry swayed, unprepared for her zeal. “We cannot leave behind a messy laboratory,” Sophie chirped agreeably, “that wouldn’t be cricket. Any good assistant knows that.” As Sophie took him into her mouth, massaging his head lovingly as she took his length in increasingly deep strokes, Harry felt faint. He rested his fingers on Sophie’s shoulder for balance, only to have her reposition his hand along the back of her head with an encouraging moan. Sophie continued with a single-minded focus, and Harry gave no resistance to her dedicated pursuit of his orgasm. He found himself holding his breath, lightheaded before he came, spilling himself into his wife’s loving mouth. 

She said nothing, clearing the last away before she gathered herself and stood naked before him. “Your cock is so beautiful,” she said bashfully, “thank you for sharing it with me.” Still in a mild delirium, Harry simply smiled and brushed her lips with his fingertips. Sophie hugged him, feeling his shirt against her bare skin. “I’m going to have a shower,” she commented, with a lightly stretch. Harry said nothing, still gazing at her. “It’s rather too big, the shower,” she said absentmindedly, “and far too big for just one person.” Sophie cut her eyes back to Harry to drive her point home before leaving him at the window and continuing to the shower. She was already under the deluge when the shower door opened and Harry joined her under the warm, flowing water. They said nothing as she leaned back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, blissfully sharing the moment. “May I admit something?” Harry asked softly.

“Of course,” Sophie answered, stepping from him to lather her hair. Harry stood there for a moment, unsure of how to begin before he simply admitted, “I don’t ever wish we were someone else. Perhaps I am boring, and I will admit that I did find that exceedingly enjoyable, but I **would not** like you simply waiting for me with no external life of your own.” Sophie rinsed the shampoo from her hands silently, watching as Harry lathered a washcloth and gestured for her to turn around so he could wash her back. “I am so proud of the woman you are,” he explained softly, “and for that woman to have chosen me. I would not want to keep you under glass, just for myself.” After a generous scrub, Harry turned her to face him, concluding, “Making love to Sophie Hart is a dream come true. Why would I want to go back to sleep?”   
Sophie smiled, her eyes shining as she kissed Harry under the rainfall shower, “I love you Harry.”

Harry traced his fingers along her ribs, in the freshly healed space of her barely evident scarring. “Are the scars visible?” Sophie asked, worried.   
“Only to me,” Harry assured her, “no one else would notice, but I know every line, every curve, and every part of this body. That’s my right and my honor.”  
Sophie rinsed, stepping from the shower and drying while Harry finished showering. As she toweled off, she looked at the space in the mirror, searching for any visible scar but finding none. “I heard about your recent outburst,” Sophie called as Harry shut the shower down, examining.   
“Outburst?” Harry inquired innocently, stepping out of the large shower.  
“Lancelot,” Sophie clarified, to Harry’s annoyance. Sophie watched the microscopic reactions register on Harry’s face, amused. “Arthur doesn’t know anything,” he explained, “don’t worry.”

Sophie tossed the towel away, shrugging. She sauntered over to him, leaning up on her feet to place a gentle kiss on his cheek in appreciation. “Harry Hart,” she effused, “superhusband.” As a glow found Harry’s face, Sophie lowered and turned back. “I’m a bit tired,” she yawned, “would it be alright if I took a little nap?” She looked back at Harry earnestly, her inquiry sincere.   
“Of course my love,” Harry answered, “go have a lovely rest, and we can have a nice dinner together when you wake.” Harry watched as Sophie smiled, nodded, and left the bathroom. Once he finished dressing, he slowly crept through the bedroom to avoid waking her and closed the door. In the living room, he looked around, recalling the day’s events before collecting the robe from the window and the scattered crosswords at the foot of the sofa. He placed the newspaper into the wastebin before filling a glass with gin and sipping it in silence. 

Sophie woke in the dark to the sounds of Beethoven, and left the bedroom in her pajamas in search of Harry. She found him setting the table for dinner, which was filled with canapes and bites of many varieties. “I thought our last dinner together could be a sampling,” Harry suggested, “to leave you with vivid memories for later.” Sophie admired the fruit and cheese, and smiled warmly, yet there was still a slight gloom about her. Harry pressed a flute of champagne into her hand as he approached her. “Harry,” Sophie explained, “about earlier. I don’t want you to think I wish you were someone else. I never think that. I think of you everyday,” she sighed, “you are all I want in the wide world. You do know that, don’t you?”   
“What I know,” Harry replied, “is that my vivacious and exciting wife still wants to play with me after fifteen years, and for that I am eternally grateful.” He kissed her hand, “Sit, please.”

Sophie sat before the banquet, slowly choosing each item and staring at them for several minutes before she sampled them. She was quieter than usual - pleasant but distant, and Harry could see her already closing down and withdrawing from him and the experience. She had, in the past, told Harry that deep cover was different. That she had to leave being ‘his Sophie’ behind, but Harry now found himself witnessing that process firsthand. Her luster left her, seeming to settle under layer after layer of gauzy melancholy. “It’s delicious,” she said softly, “thank you my dearest.” Harry simply smiled, returning to his meal as Sophie drew out each bite, first admiring it before taking each careful mouthful. The dinner lingered for over an hour, Harry simply sitting with her as she continued her ritual from each small piece, sipping the now warm champagne in between each piece. Harry attempted to refresh it, only for Sophie to refuse. 

It wasn’t until Sophie took a slice of Japanese pear into her mouth, crushing the tissue of the fruit with her tongue and releasing its natural sweetness that she seemed to break. Tears streamed down her face as she held her silence, her eyes lowered to the plate. Harry pursed his lips, trying to appear strong as he looked on for her sake. “I feel positively doolally,” she admitted, “whatever has come over me?” She lifted her napkin, only to rest it back in her lap and look away from the table. “Nothing,” Harry answered, “you are merely exhausted, which isn’t doolally at all.” Harry stood, walking around the table and kneeling beside her chair. “You can still end this,” he whispered kindly, “sip champagne on the flight with me, and come home to our bed. Be done with this awfulness once and for all.” Sophie lifted her eyes to stare into his and he pressed his forehead to hers, as if his will could compel her to his resolution. 

“I can’t,” Sophie explained, “I have to see this through.” She wrapped her hands over his, which caressed her face, “I’m sorry I’m not stronger.” Harry laughed desperately, lifting his head as if to appeal to God above for reprieve. “You are the strongest person I know,” Harry responded, “of anyone. I am in awe of it.” Sophie sighed sickly at his comment, relieved through her tears. “I am **always** on your side,” Harry vowed, “ **always** in support of what you feel you need to do, so long as you understand and agree that as your husband - I will come and get you if I think you are in danger. You have to keep me in the know, with the code. Agreed?”   
Sophie looked into his eyes, sniffed a final time, and answered, “Love, honor, _and_ obey.”  
Harry hugged her tightly to him, and Sophie rested her head against his. Harry lifted her in his embrace, dropping her to her feet. “Come,” he requested, “I need to hold you. Desperately.”

She slipped her hand into his, and they walked together to the bedroom. There, they lay in each other’s embrace until the music faded to silence, Harry slipping his strong hands over her skin with a light, gentle touch as she lay staring up at the ceiling. “You’re still so gorgeous,” she sighed, “gorgeous as the first time I ever laid eyes upon you. How I envy those people who get to see you everyday. How I loathe those people who do so without ever noticing you, the fools.”  
“Well,” Harry remarked, blushing, “I’d say the same of you, but it’s simply not possible that a man sees you and hasn’t instantly fallen in love.” Harry kissed her shoulder, “Impossible. Unthinkable. As for those around me: I’ve never noticed them - my heart is too filled with you.”  
“Good,” Sophie said mischievously. Harry smirked, squeezing her waist in his grip as she rolled to her side to spoon against him. “Fall asleep in my arms Canary,” he requested, kissing the back of her neck, “Its the best feeling in the whole world, holding you close to my heart.”

 

Sophie sat at the edge of the bed, her knees hugged to her chest as she watched Harry sleeping. The much-longed for sunrise was taking place behind her, yet all she could focus on was Harry’s relaxed body. Her focus was eventually interrupted by the chime of the door, which she answered, abandoning the bed and her observation. She opened the door, allowing the room service tray into the suite and signing the check as he left. She began to lay out the breakfast on the dining room table, Harry’s English breakfast alongside her Japanese one. Setting out his bacon alongside her steamed rice and Japanese pickles brought a smile to her face. She had embarrassed herself being so emotional the night before, and she was hoping to hold her resolve through this last day and only focus on the positive. She tried to keep that happy thought as she heard Harry stirring, and he came to join her. He kissed her cheek, taking his seat. 

Although Sophie was trying her best to display her optimistic side, to Harry she immediately seemed sad. Harry said nothing about this: partially because he took a queer pride in being the place she seemed unable to hide those feelings but moreover because he didn’t want her to feel worse about the situation. It was their last day together, and Harry was also sad about it. Truth be told, he thought any other feeling would be an inappropriate one. “This breakfast is divine,” Harry began, “thank you for arranging it, Canary.” Sophie smiled as she removed the skin from her salmon, “When the preparation is making a phone call,” Sophie quipped, “I can be quite the cook.” She glanced up at Harry, who beamed back at her. “The domestic should not be expected of the divine,” he flirted resolutely, “Your time should be dedicated to bathing in milk and capturing the hearts of we mere mortals.” Sophie blushed as he smirked. 

“I should start packing,” Sophie sighs, leaving the table and returning to the bedroom. Harry sat silent for a moment, unsure what to do. When he heard Sophie opening his luggage, Harry abandoned his breakfast to intervene. “Canary,” he called from the bedroom door, “let me attend to this. You should be relaxing today.” Sophie walked from the closet, her arms full of her clothing and dropped them on the bench at the end of the bed. Harry walked over to her, gently rubbing her back as she stood before the pile, her expression vacant. “Please let me sort this,” Harry requested. Sophie turned to him, hugging him tightly. She attempted to brush his cheek when he intercepted, “I’ve not shaved yet, Canary.” Sophie was undaunted by this, pressing her cheek against his morning scruff and sighing blissfully. “Forgive me,” she said, “I’ve been awake since three this morning and I’m a bit foggy.” Harry glanced at the clock and sighed - 10:28 AM.

“Have a short rest with me,” Harry requested, gesturing back to the still unmade bed. Sophie tucked her head under his chin, looking back to the large space. “Trying to get me into bed again, Mr. Hart?” she teased, stifling a slight yawn. She left his embrace, shedding her pajama top and nestling into the duvet. Harry dropped his robe, joining her and kissing her shoulder. “Thank you for spending this week with me,” Harry said softly, continuing to kiss along her arm to her hand, which he took in his own and examined it, “I hope you take this with you while in the field in some measure. You will be in my thoughts every moment until you return to me.” Sophie slid down the bed, reclining as Harry continued kissing her fingertips. “Thinking of you is never the issue,” she yawned, “that’s easy. I will miss your touch though.” Harry leaned down, kissing her temple as Sophie lamented, “That I cannot seem to replicate.”

“How do you mean?” Harry asked curiously. He looked down, stroking her hair patiently and admiring her body. “Would you fuck me Harry?” Sophie asked, her request simple. Harry stopped stroking her hair, slightly stunned at the directness of her question. “Once more, before I have to go?” She clarified, “I’ve tried thinking of us together in the bunker, but I can’t seem to get it right. Maybe, if we have a less romantic tryst I’ll remember it differently. Maybe if it is just the physical?” Harry loomed over her, looking into her eyes as he considered the longing in her voice. “What spoils it my love?” he asked carefully. Sophie thinks on this before replying, “Your words. I cannot recreate your poetry in my mind and it only reminds me that you are not there.” Sophie sighed, a quivering laugh mingled within it as she concluded, “Then I miss you so.”  
Harry touched her cheek, leaning down and kissing her, pressing his body to hers fervidly. 

Sophie could feel his growing passion for her as his hips rested against hers, yet his reluctance puzzled her. Their lips parted and Harry lifted her hand to her chin, rubbing it with his thumb. “Show me,” he coaxed lovingly, “show me that release. Show me how I love you from so far away.” Harry placed her fingers at her mouth, watching intently as she slipped them past slowly to moisten them, “Then my love,” he said seriously, “I will fuck you. Properly and memorably.”  
Sophie released her fingers, her heart pounding as Harry lifted to watch her find and penetrate herself. As she began stroking, Sophie closed her eyes, and Harry rested alongside her. He parted her knees to watch, and lifted her opposite hand to cup it to her breast, giving it a gentle squeeze with his hand. Harry then kissed her neck, softly biting her earlobe. “That’s it, pet,” he whispered as she began hushed moans, “give yourself to me. Feel me here with you.” 

Sophie kept her eyes closed, her fingers pressing against her delicate flesh as she continued rubbing herself. She turned her face in search of him, her nose blushing his cheek as he left her hand on her breast and skimmed down her side. He cautiously tried to limit his contact with her, to allow her to fill in the gaps that might aid her when they were apart; and as he watched her toes curl and her shoulders arch he found and began easing his own aching erection. When her moans raised in pitch and began their breathy crescendo, Harry pushed into her to her delighted surprise. “Are you going to come for me?” Harry asked her, a possessive sternness to his voice. When Sophie gasped, nodding enthusiastically he replied, “Say it, Canary. Say you will come for me.” Sophie panted, her body trembling as she responded, “Yes...yes. Ahh…”   
“And are you going to come for me in the bunker, while apart?” Harry requested soberly. 

“Yes,” Sophie whimpered, nodding as her body tensed in waves, “oh God Harry, yes…”   
Harry withdrew from her gently, resting alongside her with his mouth still near her ear as she continued working herself to orgasm. His warm breath poured across her face as he watched her succumb to the sensation and slow to a stop, each deep huff punctuated with an airy mewl as she relaxed. Harry wasted no time, leaning over to kiss her passionately as she relaxed into the mattress. Her eyes were still closed as he returned to her with forceful impetus, which she immediately responded to with a zealous squall. Wide-eyed, she met his gaze before grabbing his hair tightly in her fists. They said nothing, their frenzied exchange keeping Sophie edged to the brink of another, more intense orgasm which made her entire body tremble and writhe. Harry roared, cumming inside her as she seemed to melt into him, entirely spent. 

After a few moments, Harry softly kissed her lips before laying beside her. Sophie immediately rolled to her side, resting her cheek on his chest as Harry held her close to him. “Rest now,” he said softly, gazing up to the ceiling, “and when you are on your decompression, I will wake you every single morning in like fashion. You can watch me dressing for the day from bed, blissful in the afterglow.” Harry’s eyes shined as he concluded, “Your pleasure will be as routine as a morning cuppa, Canary. Just come home to me.” Sophie sniffed, rubbing her cheek against his chest as she dozed lightly. Harry wrapped his hand around her healing ribs and sighed, “Just come home to me.” He looked down, smirking as she slumbered against him and tried to keep that happy thought. He simply couldn’t believe the worst was before them, praying instead that she was facing a brief return and would soon be back in London. He needed to believe that.

Hours passed while Harry continued to hold Sophie, listening to her breathe. He hoped she might be back by their anniversary, and imagined what he might do should such a thing happen.   
Sophie hummed quietly, stretching as she lifted her head and looked at him. “Good evening Canary,” Harry cooed, “would you like me to draw you a bath?” Sophie lifted, leaning on her hands as she sniffed and looked about. “No thank you,” she responded simply, “best to stick to a shower. I’ll need a proper scrub to remove any perfume or lingering scent.” Harry lowered his gaze, blinking slowly in an attempt to conceal his disappointment. Sophie was closed off, aloof in every way and her tone solidified the notion: the holiday was over. Sophie stood, her face alight as she looked around the room considering the list of preparation in her mind. “All this must be left behind,” she acknowledged, pinching the space between her finger and thumb idly.

Harry nodded, watching as Sophie walked to the bathroom silently and closed the door. He say at the edge of the bed, listening as the shower through the door in the silent suite. His focus was interrupted by the doorbell, which chimed once throughout the space. Curiously, Harry slipped into his robe and checked the door before opening the door. The hospitality staff offered a large white box, placing it into Harry’s hands. Harry carried it back into the bedroom, noting the Kingsman logo embossed in gold in the center of the lid. Sophie emerged from the shower, rubbing the towel over her head in a tight circle as she stopped in front of the box. She pursed her lips, running her hand over the top of the box and tracing the logo before lifting the lid and examining the contents. “Well,” she sighed, lifting the bodysuit and studying the contents beneath it, “seems we have started. A jump it is then.” She dropped the towel, dressing from the box and sealing her supplies within the compartment. 

 

With Harry remaining to close down the suite, Sophie left the Otani with Harry and traveled to the edge of the Aokigahara. There, the agents were met by a van to transport them to the plane where Guinevere could complete her jump and return to her mission. Once they reached the plane, Harry boarded behind Sophie; shaking hands with officers he clearly knew while she sorted her gear and prepared for her jump. Now that they were working, all hint of romance had left their exchanges - they were Galahad and Guinevere, Kingsman agents. Guinevere climbed into her wetsuit, covering over the bodysuit which had arrived at the suite. She abandoned her tactical suit, which was to be returned with her next supplies drop. She was jumping directly into the Sea of Japan, with instruction to swim to the beach and continue back to the bunker by dawn. While Guinevere checked and rechecked her her gear, Galahad walked over to join her. 

“You seem well-acquainted,” she commented, her back to Galahad as she finished suiting up. “Yes,” he confirmed, “we have worked together several times.” Galahad stood beside her, surveying her work as he responded, “They are discreet.” Guinevere glanced up at him for a moment, but showed no emotion at the remark. “Worry not,” Galahad whispered, “it can’t be long now. I am certain this mission is nearing its closure, and after a brief period you will be back in London. I promise you.”   
“Don’t do that,” Guinevere chided, “it’s cruel. We have no idea how much longer I am to remain.”  
Guinevere turned to step to the open platform for her jump when Galahad gripped her arm and pulled her back gently. “I just gave you my word,” he said sternly, “I need to know that you heard me.” Sophie’s expression softened slightly, and she nodded back at him. 

“Very good,” Galahad confirmed. He double-checked her rigging, slipping a waterproof mylar package into her bodysuit and zipping it up tightly. He wanted desperately to touch her face, but that was impossible in this environment. The Kingsman officers secured her oxygen and chute to the back of her wetsuit, dictating instructions to her as she looked past them at Galahad. She confirmed all instruction and stepped to the open hatch, feeling the chilling wind as she looked down over the water. She turned back, nodding to the officers in thanks, but before Galahad could say goodbye she stepped off the edge and dropped away from the plane. Harry looked out into the dark, but could see nothing. It was as if the darkness had swallowed her whole. There he remained until the hatch began to close, sealing him within the plane. Harry tightened his jaw, concealing his broken heart from the officers as he thanked them for their discretion. After all, even with a finding of competency, an agent evaluation is a delicate thing: best kept private.

 

Harry packed everything carefully, closing each case before calling for collection. The suite was again restored, with a cold emptiness that made Harry glad to be leaving it. He stood in the living room in his wool overcoat, looking out over the city in the early morning glow as he awaited the bellman. He hadn’t slept, returning late from Guinevere’s deployment and busying himself with packing to avoid the bed he had shared with his wife only hours before. He was crestfallen, and understood that although The Dorchester had come to represent a haven of sorts: where so many lovely moments from their affair had taken place, The Otani would never be such a place. This was a place he found himself hoping never to return. The doorbell chimed, and Harry directed the staff to his bags before taking a final look back in an effort to seal the memory of the previous days before leaving the darkened suite behind him.

“Manējā to…” Harry stumbled, “hanasemasu ka?” He looked to the concierge hopefully, who gave a slight nod and left to retrieve the hotel manager.  
“Good morning,” the manager offered, easing Harry’s somewhat challenged Japanese, “how may I assist you?” Harry smiled subtly, looking down at the bill for the suite. He pulled his biro, noting several of the room service and bar charges nd outlining them. “I’d like to pay for these separately if I may?” he explained, “And I’d like to place them onto another bill - removing them from this one. Could that be arranged?” Harry extended the bill to the manager before producing his wallet, “All of the main charges can of course remain on the Kingsman account.” The manager reviewed the bill for a moment before taking it away to make the necessary changes. With that loose end clipped, Harry happily paid for the charges and left for the airport. As always, all things were considered as he left Japan behind, his thoughts lingering on Sophie as he relaxed in the airport lounge.

 

Sophie emerged from the water along the beach, carefully watching as she stepped slowly from the water and up onto the beach. Having shed her tank and chute before leaving the water, Sophie pulled her glasses and her pistol from the small zippered pocket on the side of her thigh and continued back through the woods to the familiar shack with its sign reading: 경고! 오염! (Warning! Contamination!)   
Walking to the boarded up door and pulling a rod from the hinge on the right, Sophie entered the shack and continued down to her simple, but secure bunker. Once inside, Sophie removed her glasses and switched on the overhead light, looking around at the all-too-familiar surroundings. She sighed, but before her deep sadness could take hold she felt a pinch in her breast which reminded her of Harry’s mylar package. Unzipping her bodysuit, she reached inside and removed it.

Inside the package, Sophie discovered a warm pair of socks, several sachets of chamomile tea, her lipstick, and a small note. Squeezing her tube of lipstick in her grip, she looked at the note Harry included with the package:

_Canary -  
It’s the little things you have missed:   
A proper cup of tea   
Warm feet_

_So I hope you find some sanctuary here. As for me - I only miss you.  
Yours, forever_

Sophie smiled, holding the items in her hand and smelling any lingering scent that might remain on them. She stepped to the small mirror above her basin, drawing the lipstick over her lower lip and pressing them together to leave a faint stain on both lips as she took in her reflection. Then she placed the socks with her supplies, rested the extra tea upon the cupboard apart from a single bag. She walked over to the kettle, switched it on and dropped the bag into her cup as she read the note a second time. The kettle switched off, and Sophie poured the water into the cup before setting Harry’s note alight and watching it burn to cinders as she sipped the tea in silence. 


	11. The Breakthrough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all start somewhere.
> 
> In our many and varied connections, we form families and forge enemies. 
> 
> This is Chester King's chapter in Sophie Hollander's story.

“Good morning Galahad,” Arthur said cheerfully, “all smooth sailing on Gloriana?”   
“Yes,” Harry answered, “Good morning Arthur. It was...a most rewarding escape.” Harry entered the dining room, taking his seat beside Arthur without further elaboration. If Arthur assumed his time away was on the boat, that was all the better, for it saved Harry providing an explanation. “I certainly hope you are well rested, for we have another mission requiring your attention.” Arthur informed him, pushing a folder across the table to him. Harry opened the folder, reading the dossier in silence while Arthur addressed the rest of the room. The break had left him surprisingly clear-minded and ready to work, and he knew doing so might keep his focus until Sophie was finally on her way back to him. Watching his wife transform before returning to her mission invigorated him, and he reflected on it on the journey home. When in doubt, trust the work - she was absolutely correct in her assessment. 

“Seems straightforward enough,” Harry remarked, closing the folder and returning his focus the Arthur. Several Kingsman stood to leave the room as Arthur replied, “Yes, and if you could accomplish this task without professing your undying affection we would so appreciate it.”  
Harry’s eyes narrowed at Arthur’s mocking, considering how to best diffuse the jest. “I haven’t even seen him yet,” Harry scoffed merrily, “but I will try to resist this time.” Harry leaned back in his leather chair, looking away from Arthur to ensure his face did not betray his lighthearted tone. This recent chain of events left Arthur low of Harry’s list of favorite people. Now he sat across from him, his growing contempt subdued behind his affable tone and professional demeanor. He couldn’t wait to leave for this mission, and redirect his frustration at more deserving parties while placing distance between them. Being a Kingsman gives generously at times. 

Arthur had an office, but preferred remaining in the dining room. He felt it sent a message of power and control over the inner workings of the organization. He watched as Galahad collected his file and left the room, reflecting on his outburst during the previous meeting. Arthur was proud of Kingsman, and had sacrificed many things in his life in his devotion to keeping the standards exceedingly high as its chief officer. Seeing an agent of such merit engage in such a heated and emotional way disappointed him, especially from an agent which he considered a personal friend. Such histrionics had no place within Kingsman, but Arthur found himself seeing it slowly emerge in recent years and he was loathe to acknowledge it. He had been fighting these changes since taking this position, and seeing Galahad fall to sentimentality had been a distinct blow. Arthur found himself wondering as to the state of the world as he pondered it. 

It hadn’t always been like this. There was a time when this work was more dignified: when being a gentleman was understood, and when anyone encountered in the field could easily be assessed or dispatched. Things were simpler and more dignified when everyone accepted their role and the rowed together as one. Society itself prospered; and when an occasional breakthrough came along the very nature of their perseverance reminded us all that with hard work and diligence, that manners indeed maketh man. Arthur simply did not understand how such a thing could be brought to the current state - where a man like Galahad stood in this dining room taking a stand for an agent everyone should have agreed had no place in their cherished institution. He even flaunted the idea of being in love with her as though he didn’t understand that was the very threat Arthur had worked so hard to contain and prevent all these years. 

It was unthinkable to him that this had come to pass. Respect, which was once a resolute asset in this profession, now seemed merely a commodity up for grabs by anyone at all wishing to ‘have a go’ at his beloved calling. He watched Galahad leave the room in silence. It wasn’t his fault that the disagreement had arisen: any gentleman feels compelled to defend a lady when they are in harm’s way. It is precisely that instinct which makes him such an asset to Kingsman, and in any other situation Arthur would be proud to have witnessed such character on display. It must not have been easy for his friend to stand up to him. Without our roles - without society and class - everything falls apart, and Arthur knew this to be true from his first day at Kingsman. That was what he swore to uphold; his oath to Queen and country meant what was best for that country, even if those threats came from within it. He thought back to that night at Boodles so many years before, wishing he had never laid eyes on Sophie Hollander.

 

00:00:00 zPgsYenteGsbyEnalsTVLhidsHtsUOyenAParl 

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-150507

With the 60-day deadline rapidly approaching, everything here remains at a standstill. Agent remaining in position and awaiting further instruction until further orders are received or there is an advance on location. Agent healed completely, and supplies are in good supply. No change and nothing further to report at this time. 

End of line.

 

It was 1989, and Arthur had just arrived at his club. A few of the Kingsman agents were gathering for a drink, and he could hear convivial chatter as he entered the small room where several men gathered to watch the year’s fencing competition. Arthur took his seat, gesturing his order to the waiter as he turned his focus to the lively Épée match currently underway. “Chester,” Gareth called to him, “grand of you to join us. Even if you did miss the wager.” The waiter set Arthur’s brandy at his side, and he lifted it as he replied, “Thank you Thomas. Just in time for this match, thankfully. That lad is exceptional - what speed!” Several men laughed at his observation, which momentarily puzzled Arthur before he dismissed them to focus on the fencing. The fencer was fast, an aggressive competitor with brilliant form. Arthur watched as the athletes stepped lightly, scoring points in their fierce standoff before the final point was awarded.

As the match concluded, several of the men cheered and others settled wagers as Gareth turned back to catch Arthur’s expression. Lifting the mask with a brilliant smile was a fresh faced young woman, and Arthur was shocked by the discovery as those in the group which had been pulling for her cheered. As her victory was displayed on screen, Arthur’s expression soured mildly. “Not very graceful for a lady,” he commented, “she’s unlikely to entice a suitor like that.”   
“Did you hear that?” another man mocked, “Chester’s in love! You’re too old for her, Ches.”   
This brought another round of laughter, which Arthur dismissed with a drink of brandy. “She’s my pick for this year’s champion,” Gareth advised, “she’s built like a woman and fights like a man.”   
“Who on Earth is searching for that blend?” Arthur scoffed, his eye catching Galahad as he entered the hall. He beckoned to him as Sophie Hollander left the screen and the next match began. “Sorry to be so late,” Harry said, “Have I missed anything?”  
“Nothing remarkable,” Arthur said dryly, gesturing to the waiter for another round. 

That was always the problem with Sophie Hollander: she is built like a man, but she isn’t one. Arthur should have seen it that first night, and now it was the only thing he could see. Perhaps it was because she was an orphan. Instead of having a mother to prepare her for the world, she had a vicar who allowed fencing to become more than an activity in her life. Now alone in the dining room, Arthur turned his attention to his tablet, reviewing her file and reading her field report. On paper, she looked perfect: proper upbringing, good parents, and an impressive degree from a respectable school. There had been murmurs of gender inclusion since the 70s, but as Thatcher left office those murmurs grew into casual inquiries. Arthur knew the time had come to give at least the impression of inclusion, and he believed he had found a perfect patsy.  
 _That damned fencing,_ he thought, scrolling through the file, _such an aggressive pastime._

 

“Okay children,” Sophie called to the group, “that was a marvelous practice. Remember your posture and practice your form, and I will see you again after Christmas. You are dismissed. Have a lovely holiday!” Sophie stood in her spartan jacket, looking out at the children in her beginner class. “Thank you, Miss Hollander!” They called back in unison, leaving the mat to put their foils away. She did not see Arthur enter with the vicar, who remained in the back of the room observing the class. It was 1991, and though she graduated earlier in the year Sophie spent her time giving classes and working at the college while she decided what to do next. She recently purchased a flat in the area, not quite ready to leave the only family she knew behind. Sophie removed her gloves, looking to Hislop curiously as he chatted with the distinguished looking gentleman at the back of the room. He gestured to her with a prideful glow, and she left the children to answer his beckoning wave. 

“Sophie, this is Chester King,” Hislop introduced, “he’s interested in supporting the fencing program here at the parrish.” Sophie smiled, extending her hand to Arthur as Hislop looked on. “I saw your victory in 1989,” Arthur commented as he shook her hand, “it was most impressive.” Sophie blushed mildly as he released her hand, tucking her hair behind her ear somewhat nervously. “Forgive me,” she admitted, “I met so many people that day. I’m flattered you remember.” Sophie laughed quietly, looking back to Hislop as she fell silent. Arthur had not met her at that tournament, but liked the idea that she believed they had. He said noting, allowing her to apologize for her perceived faux pas. “It was an easy match to remember,” he complimented, “you are quite an opponent.” Arthur looked past her at the children as they met parents and left, “Now you are preparing the next class of champions,” he continued, “that’s very noble.”

“We all start somewhere,” Sophie dismissed, “it’s a brilliant program here. I’m fortunate to be a part of it.” Sophie unbuttoned her jacket, looking back at the room. Hislop excused himself and left them to assist some of the lingering children. “I’d say they were fortunate to have you,” Arthur commented as they stood together observing the room. Sophie looked up at him as he looked out, noting his poise. He looked flawless. “It’s a very worthy program,” she said softly.   
“I did not come to see the program,” Arthur admitted, “I came to meet you.” Sophie seemed puzzled by this, but said nothing until Arthur added, “Such altruism is inspiring, but ultimately wasted if one is not reaching their true potential.”  
“What greater potential could there be than in improving one’s community?” Sophie asked.   
“That’s the very question I have come to ask you,” Arthur replied, looking down at Sophie. 

There was something about the resolution in Arthur’s stare that intimidated Sophie, and though he seemed kind she found herself looking away from his attention. “Tell me,” Arthur asked lightly, “have you any plans for the holiday? A trip perhaps?” Sophie shook her head shyly with a self-aware smile. “I’ll be here at the parish,” she asked, “it’s also a care home. There are many things to do this time of the year. I try to lend a hand where I can. Many hands make light work.”  
“That’s right!” Arthur nodded, “This was your care home, wasn’t it?”   
Sophie was caught out by this, blinking as she responded, “You have the advantage of me - you seem to know so much about me already. I’d love to know why.”  
Sophie looked up at Arthur with piercing eyes, which could prove intimidating to a different sort of man. Arthur relished this, holding her focus a few moments before he replied calmly, “I’d like to offer you a job. Or to offer you a chance for a job unlike any other.”

Arthur opened his card case, handing her the thick and watermarked card bearing his name and title. He said nothing, pocketing the case and turning to take his leave as she read the information on the card. “Wait,” Sophie called, looking up from the card, “you want to offer me a job as a tailor?” Arthur turned and looked back at her in the now empty room, his confident smile greeting her confusion. “Things are not always as simple as they appear,” he answered, “and callings often appear to us in unexpected ways.” His words gave Sophie a warm and dizzying feeling as she stood looking back at him. “Have a happy Christmas, Miss Hollander,” Arthur called, “and if you still have questions, give me a call in the new year. I will explain everything that is possible.” With those words, Arthur turned and left the room while Sophie held the card. 

 

Of course she made the call. Every person Arthur ever reached out to had. Arthur thought of Sophie: alone in her simple flat over that Christmas, and was certain this plan would serve them both. She would wash out of recruitment, obviously; but she would be better for the experience. In this way, they both benefited: he could show that he had attempted inclusivity should the subject arise, and she could return to her parish proud of her attempt to make the world a better place. She could transcend the sympathy she had experienced as an orphan and know that she had come very close to a fraternity of near-impossible standard. Indeed - it is an honor simply to be nominated. When she called, and Arthur showed her the true nature of the organization, she lit up and agreed immediately - promising to do her very best to make him proud of her. “Simply do your best,” Arthur assured her, “and you will have proved me correct in my choosing.”

He left her with the other recruits and made his way to the lab to meet with Edwin. Sophie Hollander had promised to give her all to this effort, and he had seen her prove a formidable opponent in at least one arena, so in this there could be no room for mistakes. She needed to fail believing she had failed due to her own inability to measure up. Only then could she be an example to others in the future. There was no point in putting her through this test and giving the organization false hope. Arthur informed Edwin and Merlin that Sophie was allergic, and to remove the items from her washbag which might affect her. This simple lie hurt no one and only served to not postpone the inevitable. “Let’s not discuss these things in front of the recruits,” Arthur instructed, “we would not want to give an impression of favoritism, nor would we wish to discourage or embarrass her. Rumors among agents can be damaging to morale, after all.”

The two officers agreed, noting nothing in her personnel file as they removed the needed items from her supplies. Arthur left pleased, hoping a few bruises might prove enough to drive her out of the program. If she received the rapid healing salves, she might push through and really hurt herself. Arthur secretly hoped her seeing her fellow recruits bounce back might discourage her, and hasten her voluntary exit before any actual injuries were sustained. He would hate for it to come to that. Arthur paused a moment, consoling himself that it would not come to such an unthinkable conclusion. Sometimes ensuring the right course of action meant holding to one’s principles and being willing to do what is necessary, even if the choices are between equally unpleasant realities. That is what true leadership is made of. Arthur reminded himself of this as he quieted the rumblings of conscience from his mind. They served no good in this.

 

00:00:00 PttHHrpvhisHLOhivthivPoYenaOenDZ 

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-210707

North Korea seems compliant with all agreements thus far - but little more has taken place, likely due to the delay over the previous 60 day delay. I can report nothing beyond what I am certain is being detailed in an intel report from basic intelligence. All destabilizing agent has been dispersed, and I cannot recommend the deploy of further materials with the continued demolition. Agent is standing by, awaiting further orders in hope of possible extraction pending outcome of second phase negotiations. Nothing to do now it seems but to wait. 

End of line.

 

However, to Arthur’s growing dismay, Sophie did not easily wash out of the recruitment process. To everyone else, he seemed a proud sponsor with a glowing selection for Gareth’s replacement pending his retirement; but privately Arthur was becoming evermore despondent. Her persistence began to drive Arthur to very real frustration. He casually spread rumors, making certain that her fellow recruits knew about her upbringing and the likelihood that her being a woman has resulted in preferential treatment at university. He remarked to Merlin her lack of fraternal connection to the other recruits, noting her inability to formulate camaraderie within the group, but Merlin did not seem to think this was a problem. Merlin noted her devotion to each task, showing the record of her early morning and late night practices and her impressive improvement after spending countless hours at the shooting range. Arthur scowled at this, _Of course she would exploit the resources here to play catch up._

“It seems as though she’s taking liberties,” Arthur remarked, “should an agent really need so much prep time for assignments?” He looked over Merlin’s shoulder as Merlin notated the files. “I wish the other recruits worked this hard,” Merlin replied as he typed, “her shooting scores alone show considerable improvement. At this rate, she’ll make marksman within a few weeks.” Merlin continued notating the record, not giving further thought to Arthur’s criticisms. Arthur turned the information over in his mind, his concern plaguing him. Sophie Hollander cannot make agent, but the opportunities to prove that were beginning to dwindle. She had taken every bruise, every joke, every indignity in stride without filing a single complaint. She gave him nothing to turn against her, simply continuing as her male counterparts began to fall away at each task. However, the shooting information was useful. Arthur thanked Merlin and left.

“You wanted to see me sir?” Sophie asked brightly, entering Arthur’s office. Arthur sat behind his desk, not rising to shake her hand as she stood before him. “Yes,” Arthur instructed, “please close the door.” Sophie did so, turning back to him as he offered her a chair. She took a seat, smoothing her skirt to the knee as she waited patiently for Arthur to speak. Arthur looked at the clock on the mantle behind Sophie, metering his delivery to draw the meeting out before he began. “I just wanted to tell you how impressed I have been by your efforts here,” he said, “I understand you’ve been working night and day to excel at your assignments.” Sophie smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously. “I promised you I would do my best,” she replied simply. Arthur looked at her, taking a moment’s pleasure at her reticence in is company. At least with him, she knew to defer. “I just wanted to ensure that you weren’t pushing yourself too hard,” he offered, “you can come to us if you are feeling overwhelmed.”

“Isn’t that the point of all this training?” Sophie asked with a smile, “We are here to test our limits, and rise to the challenge.” Arthur’s eyes left her face, and for a moment Sophie worried that she had let him down somehow. “I won’t let you down, sir,” she softly assured him.   
Arthur glanced back to the clock, watching the time as a slight smirk came over him. “I am sure you will come through,” Arthur responded, “isn’t your defensive shooting course today?”  
Sophie’s smile grew as she nodded, “Yes, and do not worry. I’ve been working very hard to prepare for it. I believe I am ready to face the challenge.”   
“You cannot be late,” Arthur reminded her, stopping as she looked at her watch and panicked.   
“Oh my goodness, I might be,” she confessed, standing to take her leave, “I am sorry, but I must go or I am certainly going to be late to the invigilator!” 

Arthur watched as Sophie tried to figure how she could make it back in time to change into her jumpsuit without being late for her exam. “I’m sure what you are wearing is perfectly acceptable,” Arthur explained, “you’ll have to work in the field this way. In fact, I’ll call down and tell the invigilator that you were with me and that you will be acceptable as is.” Sophie stopped, granting a grateful expression to Arthur before turning to leave. “Thank you sir,” she said before she slipped out the door to run to the armory for her marksman exam. Arthur took a moment, relieved that the entire business would soon be over before he called down to explain that Sophie just left his office and would be performing in her regular clothes. “Let’s not hold it against her,” he advised, “she simply lost track of the time. She is working very hard to keep up with training after all.” Arthur shared a laugh before ending the call, then sat in silence as he waited.

 

PROVISIONAL RECORD - Hollander, Sophie E  
GARETH RECRUITMENT - 150392  
SUPPLEMENTAL - Notated by Merlin 

Recruit sustained squib tag at close range, center mass, and is remanded to sickbay. Recruit was not wearing protective jumpsuit, and took tag over pedestrian cloth. Injury undetermined, with recruit admitted until further notice. Further notation to be made once she regains consciousness. 

End of line.

* * *

Routine, and the commentary. These were the things that were keeping Agent Guinevere as day 796 was upon her. Commentary and the routine.  
Night and day, up and down, back and forth, and here and there.  
With nothing to do alone in the bunker, Sophie passed the time deep in thought. She thought of London, with all the comforts of home. She prayed for her parish, for Hislop and for the people she treasured being in her life. More than anything, she dreamed of her beloved husband Harry, and the stillness that he brought to every moment they shared. She tried her best to hide how close to beaten this mission had left her, but in the suffocating silence of this tiny underground space she knew their last encounter was the only thing that made her able to carry on.  
Sophie Hollander Hart knew something about loss. She understood sacrifice.

She contemplated reporting into HQ before acknowledging that she had nothing to report. Maybe she liked the idea of there being someone - anywhere - that would be there to read her musings, but she did not wish to appear needing. She thought of her coworkers, all so good at the many layers of this work, and she did not want to be an undue burden on them. She even thought of Arthur, still so poised as he directed this organization she so adored. Becoming a Kingsman agent had been the most important action in her life. Even here, locked away from the world, she felt a part of something meaningful and she was deeply honored to have made and kept her commitment. Everything good in her life came from this commitment. Every prideful moment in her memory she owed to being part of something bigger than herself. Now those memories were all she had: swirling around in the fog of her loneliness, consoling her.

Sophie sometimes wondered if she could even remember the person she was in the beginning of all this. She knew the events in her past, and understood how they brought her to this moment, but when she tried to remember being the girl with Chester King’s card on her mantle everything seemed far away. She couldn’t imagine that girl anymore, and with the interruptions of normal life she almost never did. Now she sat drinking her subpar instant tea, letting her mind wander to all the things on which she never made time to reflect. She caught herself on occasion, snapping back with an unfamiliar sound overhead as tears streamed down her face. She didn’t know where they came from. We can be such different people over the course of our lives, and that must be true of everyone. _It must be true of Arthur_ , Sophie thought. Then she sighed, thought of Harry, and hoped this mission would end soon. There was nothing else to do until her extraction order came through but wait.

* * *

Arthur entered sickbay, greeting Sophie the morning after her accident. He found her sitting up in bed, Puck at her feet, surrounded by books and folders of information. “Good morning sir,” she said, wincing a bit as she shifted in place. Arthur stopped at the sight, his smile fading as he took in Sophie’s enthusiasm. “I don’t want you to worry,” she assured him, “I discussed the time I must remain here, and Merlin has agreed to allow me to take my exams here in sickbay. I won’t miss anything.” Sophie smiled hopefully at Arthur before looking back to her paperwork, “I’m even thinking of taking another language course. I speak French and Italian, but I was thinking Russian. That must be helpful in this line of work, wouldn’t you agree?” Arthur stood at the end of the bed, stroking Puck’s head as he rested. He sighed, looking back at Sophie with a solemn expression. “I think the time has come to reconsider your involvement at Kingsman.”

Sophie’s expression fell, and she was riddled with confusion at his suggestion. “I...don’t understand,” she whispered, “I’m fine, and I haven’t fallen behind.” Arthur said nothing, hoping his previous statement would be the end of the conversation. Sophie stared at him, completely lost as she continued, “It was a simple accident. Merlin said it wasn’t a problem. I don’t understand.” Arthur walked to the corner of the room, disconnecting the camera as Sophie added, “Please don’t lose faith in me, Arthur.”  
“You have exceeded my greatest faith in you,” Arthur explained, “but this work simply isn’t cut out for some. I would hope that this accident has shown you what’s at stake here - and why being an agent is work better suited to men.” Sophie blinked over and over, unable to understand what he was saying to her. His sudden change made no sense to her, and her head began to ache.

“But,” Sophie objected, “why even offer it to me then?”   
“Because I had to!” Arthur confessed, momentarily losing his patience. He paced at the end of the bed, and Sophie watched his stoic expression return to him. “Perhaps we can find another position for you, something in the lab where you’ll be safe. I can arrange that once you agree to leave the agent recruit program.” That was when it finally occurred to her that Arthur had never supported her becoming an agent. She wasn’t supposed to succeed at all. “You were never in support of me, were you?” she asked him, “You just needed me to fail - that’s why you chose me.” Arthur lifted his shoulders, unwilling to answer her question. He looked at her as though she were the one out of place, and it was the first moment that she felt unworthy. “All the recruits knew I was an orphan,” Sophie added, swallowing hard to ebb tears, “did you tell anyone I am an engineer?” 

“We need the best possible person to be the next Agent Gareth,” Arthur said resolutely, “we need the right man for the job, because the world is at stake.”  
“What about an Agent Guinevere?” Sophie asked. Arthur scoffed loudly, turning on his heels as he spat, “There will never be an Agent Guinevere here at Kingsman.”  
Sophie closed her workbook, taking a deep and calming breath as she turned and slowly lifted from the bed. She winced softly, walking over to the door only to stop and reconnect the camera at the corner of the room. “I couldn’t possibly leave,” she said, her voice a bit louder than normal, “so if you believe I should, you’re going to have to remove me. Otherwise, let me continue to try.” Arthur looked at her angrily as she met him, gazing up into his eyes knowing the camera was filming them both, “So thank you for visiting, but I have a great deal of studying to do.”

Arthur watched as she returned to the bed, opened her book, and returned to her studies. Her statement was clear and on record: she was not going to quit. Arthur said nothing, leaving her there. He wasn’t certain how the recording might appear to Merlin, but he knew pushing her out was no longer an option. People would know he was behind it, which would only invite more scrutiny to the selection process. He wasn’t finished, but he knew another plan was now necessary. Merlin saw the footage, saying nothing to Edwin or Arthur, but marking the exchange he witnessed. He was impressed with Sophie’s zeal, and he knew that whatever Arthur had said while the camera was down had not discouraged her. Wherever the process was going, Merlin was going to keep a special eye on this recruit from now on. Sophie closed her books, disconnected the camera for privacy, and showered. In the moment of privacy, she wept bitterly.

 

That was always the problem with Sophie Hollander: she is built like a man, but she isn’t one. Arthur sat in the dining room, looking out at all the agents he was responsible for. It was nearly October, and it was only a matter of time before one of them began questioning him about Guinevere. Arthur sighed, defeated. _Guinevere._ People don’t understand - sending her away is the right thing to do. She’s safer there. The alternative is active agent work, which would be unthinkable. Arthur was not going to put her into a firefight, no matter what the modern thinking was on the matter. Being a woman is remarkable: you get everything handed to you. Arthur could not understand how, merely by showing up, Sophie was given a place grown men fought and died protecting. She always seemed to benefit from the fact that she was less qualified - just because she persisted. There was a time everyone at this table would have agreed with him. Now almost no one did. Arthur simply did not understand it. 

 

DOSSIER - GUINEVERE  
CASE #NK05219-011007  
Supplemental - Notated by Arthur

Current mission redesignated: COMPLETED.

Agent will report to extraction via vessel at 0300 on 02.10.08 and return to London. Upon return, agent is to report for final paperwork and assignment of decompression from field, with distinction for length of deep cover. 

End of line.

 

Sophie read the order in silence. She had completed the mission, and hoped that in some small way had made a difference. She destroyed all perishables and any scraps of paper in the bunker before began packing for her extraction. There was no celebration, and she only looked forward to one reunion when she returned home. Sophie looked in the small mirror at her reflection and scowled. She fished the lipstick from her washbag, applying a tiny bit to her dry lips. _Maybe get a facial before I go home,_ she thought with a shrug.

Arthur closed the meeting with the announcement of Guinevere’s return, to the celebration of her fellow agents. As they toasted her successful mission, Lancelot shook Arthur’s hand and flashed a brilliant smile to Galahad. Harry dropped off his paperwork, sharing a drink with Arthur with his joy almost unbridled. The camaraderie was such that it spilled out of the office, as all three men continued to the club together. Arthur proudly relished another successful mission.


	12. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion to this story - and the ending I always wanted to give Sophie. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it - and special thank yous to my muses: Jen, Kennedy, and my beloved husband.   
> The biggest thank you to the readers - whose patronage, sharing, and commentary means everything to me.   
> THANK YOU!

“Agent Guinevere,” the officer called as the hatch opened on Sophie’s transport vessel, “welcome aboard the Prydwen.” 

Sophie turned from the foam liner onto her back, accepting his offered hand which lifted her from the vessel. Arthur arranged for the Kingsman frigate to bring her back to London, and by her calculations the journey should take roughly forty-one days. Sophie wasn’t sure if that was Arthur dragging his feet to bring her back, but she decided it did not matter since she was so happy to leave North Korea. Still, it felt damn good to know this case was closed satisfactorily. “Wow! That’s a pretty accurate charting,” the officer answered, “but we are going to try to get you home a bit faster than that. Weather permitting, of course.”   
“Of course,” Sophie replied, “It was just a rough figure. I read the ship schematic in the Kingsman server while I was in the bunker. I’m don’t really know anything about sailing.”  
“If it interests you, I’ll arrange a tour of the ship,” he offered, “Mind your head, Miss.”

Sophie ducked as they took the narrow stairwell up from the loading dock, leaving her vessel behind. “That would be lovely,” she replied, taking in the surroundings as they continued down the corridor to the recreational area. “We’ll need to perform a safety drill, just to acclimate you to the ship,” the officer explained, “The captain is hoping to meet you for dinner, and we have an officer’s quarters that we can prepare for you straightaway so you’ll be comfortable on the voyage.” Sophie looked around and bit her lower lip subtly as she listened. “Actually,” she explained, “I prefer not to receive special treatment while working. I’d much prefer to bunk alongside the crew - no extra fuss is required.” Sophie flashed a self-aware smile before considering that she might sound impertinent. “But if there were a place I could shower and give my clothing a wash before meeting the captain for dinner, I would very much appreciate it.” The officer nodded, offering to take her bag before directing her to the bathroom.

Sophie stood under the hot shower, letting the water pour over her face and spill down her shoulders. She moaned softly under the deluge, letting the reality of the days events settle in her mind. The last hot shower she had was with Harry, and thinking of it, she realized that she would soon be back with him. This filled her with emotion and she lathered her hair with a renewed sense of zeal. She found herself excited to meet the crew, to speak with…well, anyone after her prolonged isolation. Sophie looked at her hairy legs, shrugged, and rinsed before ending her shower and stepping from the shower stall. Waiting for her was a new navy blue jumpsuit. Sophie lifted it, noting the removal of her laundry with a meek smile. Kingsman was full of attentive, hardworking people who routinely made her life easier. Sophie always tried to remember that. She zipped up the jumper, smoothed her hair and left to return to the recreation area.

To her surprise, it was filled with men waiting for her. Sophie looked around, mildly surprised at the turnout. “We’ve never met an agent,” one crewmember admitted, offering her his hand. Sophie shook it, and each of the others happily. “It’s a pleasure,” Sophie offered, “thank you for all your assistance. Agents may get the glory, but where would we be without your efforts?”  
“There’s a phone near,” another said, “should you have anyone you’d like to call back home.”  
There was a flash of sadness on Sophie’s face before she tossed it away and answered pleasantly, “No. Thank you.”   
“You expressed an interest in touring the ship, so we’d like to show you around,” the group offered. Sophie was flattered, and nodded happily as the crew formed around her and filed out of the room to show her around the ship. She appreciated their ardor, and found the tour fascinating.

Sophie peered into the helicopter within the bay, listening as the crew explained their responsibilities in the aircraft hangar. She was impressed by the work they did, recalling the time she had to call for reinforcements on her second mission. Their tour was interrupted by a routine fire drill, which brought Sophie to the upper decks while several of her group left to suit up and complete the drill. Sophie looked out the window, watching the sun as it sparkled along the waves and felt such warmth inside her. It was over. She wasn’t yet home, but she felt relief knowing that she had done her part. Sophie knew her work, but could finally see it fit into a much larger system with many people all contributing to keeping the peace. Things and people were elevated when everyone accepted their role and the rowed together as one. She watched the sun lower in the sky and felt a quiet pride at getting to be part of such an organization. 

Her thinking was interrupted by an officer, who collected her for dinner with the captain. She followed him to the captain’s quarters, where the captain greeted her warmly. “Forgive me for not meeting you earlier,” he greeted, “I had matters that required immediate attention.” Sophie shook his hand firmly before he offered her a seat. “Think nothing of it,” she remarked, “your crew has been wonderfully welcoming. I’m sorry I’m not dressed to meet a captain.” Sophie gestured to the jumpsuit with a queer expression. The captain dropped his napkin across his lap with an amused smirk, “You’re in uniform - what could be more appropriate?” Sophie smiled, taking a sip of her water before she lifted her fork. “Two years in deep cover…” the captain continued, “that’s a Hell of a haul, if you don’t mind my saying so.”   
Sophie cleared her throat, swallowing before she answered, “I’m sure it’s no different from your duties onboard the ship. That’s the work.” 

She returned to her meal, letting the subject fall to silence as the captain wondered if she were naturally quiet or if the mission left her cold. “My petty officer informs me that you’d rather not take one of the officer’s suites.” This made Sophie look up from her dinner, momentarily concerned that her request had landed poorly. “I do hope I haven’t proved impertinent,” she explained, “it’s only that after the solitude of my mission. The idea of being around people gives me a terrific buzz. So long as I’m not in the way, I’d quite like bunking with the minions - I’d find it good fun, actually.” Sophie took a bite of green bean before adding, “in fact, I could be put to work in some capacity if that would be suitable.” The captain laughed at this, shaking his head as he took a sip of his wine. “Absolutely not,” he answered, “you have done your bit. Now is a time for you to relax and let us take care of the journey. However, I believe we can find a cot for you - provided you report it immediately should you find it uncomfortable.”

Sophie sighed in relief, returning to her meal. “Arthur told me you weren’t fussy. He was right.” Sophie furrowed her brow, unsure what to make of the comment but saying nothing. She was eating slowly, deliberately choosing each action. “Forgive my awkwardness,” she admitted, “it’s been some time since I dined with anyone. I’m looking forward to returning home.” The captain stared at her, a look of sympathy on his face. “We’ll get you there,” he assured her.   
“My social grace will return to me soon, I’m sure. After a good night’s rest perhaps,” Sophie remarked. The captain said nothing, taking in her reticence as she continued to slowly enjoy the meal. Sophie wondered if he had been instructed to report back to Arthur on her, but dare not ask. His single comment, meant in jest, had reminded Sophie that she was again under the watchful eye of her employer and she must adjust her behavior as such. She wasn’t finished working quite yet. 

She finished the meal, and returned to the officer’s lounge for a drink before thanking him and leaving for an early night. She arrived at the cabin, finding her laundry resting on middle bunk and smiling to herself. Tomorrow she’d file her reports and finalize all necessary reporting concerning North Korea, after she got a well-deserved night’s rest. She climbed into the cot, pulled the curtain to not disturb the other cabin occupants as they arrived. With her bag and personal possessions at her feet wrapped in her overcoat, she settled in and slipped almost immediately into a deep sleep, exhausted from the long day. She stirred briefly, listening as the other occupants entered the cabin but quickly remembered where she was and that there was no threat before she calmed herself and returned to restful sleep. She did not stir as the crew began the day that morning, sleeping in for the first time in her memory. 

 

Harry leaned over Sophie, brushing his soft lips across hers before slowly slipping his tongue into her mouth and massaging it against hers. Sophie softly moaned, gently tugging his hair between her fingers as he rested carefully against her and kissed her deeply. “My love,” he whispered to her as their kiss broke, looking up into her bright green eyes before brushing his nose against hers and kissed along her cheek to her neck. Sophie ran her hands down his muscular sides, squeezing him closer to her as he gently sucked her neck, desperate to hold onto this moment for as long as possible. However, it was gazing up at Harry’s ceiling that proved this could not be real. Sophie could never resist closing her eyes as she succumbed to Harry’s passionate caresses. Sophie sighed, opening her eyes to the ceiling of the bunk where she had slumbered this past week. She wondered what time it was as she opened the curtain.

Her bunkmates were already away, likely working and she was alone in the cabin as she slipped from the cabin and stood there in her shorts and tank. They had been warm and inviting, offering her magazines and chatting in the evenings before lights out. They had also taken care not to wake her in the mornings, affording Sophie the rare indulgence of sleeping in the past several days. Sophie checked the time, realizing she had finally greeted the day at a reasonable hour. _I must be breaking the nocturnal schedule at last,_ she figured with a sniff, before realizing she could still make breakfast. She quickly slipped into her jumpsuit before leaving the cabin for the mess to join the crew. She was greeted as she entered, with the crew parting to rush her to the front of the line, which she reluctantly accepted with thanks. Accepting her tray, she found her bunkmates and took a seat at the table with her breakfast.

“Finally joining us, Guinevere?” her bunkmate mocked as she settled in and took her first bite. “Just readjusting to schedule, thank you,” she replied, taking a bite of her tomato and closing her eyes in bliss. “My word, a proper English breakfast,” she gushed, “I haven’t had one in years!” The crewmen looked among each other as she sipped her coffee. “We’re getting together in the gym later to honor a crewmate if you’re interested,” another offered, “it’s a pull-up challenge, but we will also be socializing.” Sophie smiled, delighted to be included. “I don’t know…I mean, how will you cope when I best you, Geoff?” she teased. The table hooted as Sophie blushed and the crewman shook his head. “Consider that a challenge, Agent,” he replied happily, bumping her fist before he stood to return his tray. Sophie did not understand the fist bump exactly, but was happy enough being included. She sipped her coffee, pretty certain she could hold her own in the challenge.

 

Harry Hart was just returning from a late lunch, walking into the shop to drop off a coat in need of repair. He had been in a brilliant mood over the past week since reading Sophie’s final report, apart from the mild annoyance at her method of transport. He saw no reason for her to not be on a direct flight; and the lack of specific sailing information coupled with Arthur’s sudden interest in Sophie’s file could only mean that someone on that ship was monitoring Guinevere’s behaviour. Harry supposed this was sensical in some measure, given her prolonged isolation, but as that isolation was Arthur’s doing Harry found it annoying all the same. Of course, he was certain Sophie had also spotted these inconsistencies and was adjusting her behavior accordingly. If someone was watching, Guinevere was working. He had absolute faith that she was in perfect form as always. He only wished he had a date for her return to him.

In the previous times he believed her extraction to be coming, his mind went wild with grand gestures designed to celebrate his love and his gratitude for her safe return to London. However, with the autumn chill now in the air he found his thoughts turned to simpler moments by the fire with his beloved. He imagined her, wrapped in a soft chenille throw and cuddled close to him on the sofa and smiled. It was easy for him to imagine the big acts, but the indulgence of time trumped them all. They never seemed to have enough time together. Harry handed the coat over to Andrew and left the shop, walking down to Marylebone and taking in the scents that wafted by in the early evening wind. He knew everyone on the ship would treat her well, so he hoped she was relaxing as much as possible and resting for her return. Then, he’d take her in his arms and carry her to bed - where he could thoroughly worship her.

 

“29! 30! 31!” The men chanted as Guinevere pulled herself up on the beam. With her legs tucked beneath her, she continued to lift as the men cheered her on. Sophie had never experienced such positivity from her colleagues, but she suspected this was more a case of gentlemanly decorum and not a lack of spirit. She reached thirty-five, dropping to her feet to catch her breath amid the cheers. Geoff approached, shaking her hand before wrapping an arm around her. It was unexpected, and she loved it completely. Her days became filled with card games, group meals, and spirited conversation as each nervous tick from the exhausting mission seemed to fade away from her. She was grateful the captain had allowed her this, for if she had remained in the special cabin alone she would’ve missed out on all of it. She wondered what he had been reporting back to Arthur before resigning herself that whatever he said wouldn’t change musch about their dynamic. Arthur was always going to treat her the way he chose to, whatever the reason. 

Sophie stood in front of the mirror in her towel, alone in the shower room as she frowned at her reflection. Her hair had some length, but no definition and her skin was dry and dull. Many months of harsh detergents and no skincare had taken their toll, although Sophie seemed to have forgotten all about her masculine shoulders since leaving. She opened the towel, taking a lingering look at her muscular body and sighed. She’d lost so much weight on this mission. She knew Harry wouldn’t even notice, but she did and it still made her sad to only have this body to offer him upon return. It was now early November, and they would soon be arriving so she consoled herself that a trip to the spa straightaway would set her on the path back to normal and might help her surprise Harry upon her arrival. She decided on that plan and closed her towel, leaving the shower area to dress and meet the others in the recreation area.

 

“I cannot tell you how I appreciate your efforts,” Sophie offered, shaking the captain’s hand. They had arrived in the middle of November, and the chill was pronounced in the air. “You have been a model passenger and addition, Guinevere,” the captain, “we are sorry to see you go.” Sophie only hoped that were true, as this journey had come to mean a lot to her. She was, in ways, sad for it to end. She had never really felt the camaraderie she did onboard before, but she was finally home and longed to see her husband at long last. She bid farewell to everyone and left the vessel, for London. Although she was certain Arthur would know of her arrival within hours, she decided not to return to the shop. She simply was not ready to face whatever he might have waiting for her there. Though revived by her time onboard the _Prydwen_ , Sophie longed for a familiar, safe space to decompress. She needed to not be Guinevere for a while. 

Harry adjusted his tie, closing his wardrobe and leaving his bedroom bound for work. He glanced at his almost empty kitchen, pondering whether or not to stop by the market this afternoon when he supposed that decision was best left for after he checked for word of Guinevere’s return. The thought made him smile, pausing momentarily before he grabbed his overcoat and stepped onto the street. He imagined his Canary as he last saw her: in her tactical gear, her hair cropped, and he ached to bring the sparkle back to her eyes. He only prayed that her decompression was a long one, and they it wasn’t interrupted by his being called away on a mission. Her mission had taken a toll on them both, and though he would never compare his longing to her sacrifice, he also had needs that only she could address. He needed to hold her. He needed to hear her laughter and see that little smile when he baked for her. He needed her.

 

Sophie walked into the Ushvani Spa with her bag strapped to her side and was immediately noticed by Jennifer behind the desk. Her subtle look of fright did not go unnoticed as Sophie approached the consultation desk. The air smelled of orange blossom, and as she reached reception her coat, bag, and boots were collected and replaced with a robe and slippers. “Miss Hollander….” Jennifer greeted, somewhat confused, “it’s been so long since you’ve been a guest.” Sophie shrugged, looking down at her figure before looking back to the receptionist. “As I am sure it is obvious,” she admitted, “I have been away on humanitarian work. Fulfilling, but brutal on the skin. I just arrived this morning, and thought a day at the spa might be exactly the remedy before I returned home. I’d hate to frighten anyone in the neighborhood.” She flashed a smile to sell her humorous cover as Jennifer returned it and lifted her telephone receiver. 

“Yes, Philip? I’m going to need the Asmara Suite straightaway. We can reschedule. Yes. We are going to need everything,” she said, replacing the receiver. Turning back to Sophie, she continued, “My goodness, humanitarian work sounds so rewarding!” Sophie’s eyes trailed away for a moment as she nodded. “I like to think I maybe a difference these past few years. I hope so, anyhow.” Another employee appeared alongside Sophie as Jennifer concluded, “If anyone has earned a spa day, I’d imagine it would be you. If we can do anything at all, Miss Hollander, do let us know.” Sophie nodded, turning and following the employee out of the lobby to the Asmara Suite. She knew that three hours within it could bring her back to life. The employee showed her to the suite, leaving her to shower and refresh and instructing her to flip a switch near the door when she was on the table and ready for her massage. 

Sophie rolled her neck, slipping from the robe and undressing before opening the shower door and stepping into the hydrotherapy chamber. She washed everything twice, slowly shaving for the first time in months while the scent of mango and hibiscus filled the chamber. Stopping the shower and smooth her hair back, Sophie stepped from the shower and dried her skin before flipping the call switch and tucking under the sheet on the massage table. “Good morning Miss Hollander,” the therapist called, following a light knock on the door, “I see you’re here for the full treatment. We will start with a full body massage, then follow with a kaffir lime scrub and a coconut milk wrap. While you enjoy the wrap, our technicians will take care of your manicure, pedicure and a light scalp massage.” The therapist looked down and offered her a confident smile, “All that’s left is for you to advise me: relaxing or deep tissue massage?”

Sophie rolled over and relaxed into the table on her stomach. “Relaxing please. After my journey, I’m just hoping for a nice, relaxing break.” The therapist went to work as Sophie relaxed into the table and drifted into thought. As she daydreamed, several therapists scrubbed away her dry skin, applied oils and buffed and painted her nails. “I feel almost myself,” Sophie mused, “thank you all so very much.” The therapists all mumbled separately, working on her hands and feet. Standing at her scalp, the massage therapist looked down as she pulled her fingers from Sophie’s head. “Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked, “A cup of tea, or I could retrieve your clothes?” Sophie looked at the basic ensemble she entered with a pulled a face. “Burn them,” she spat before blinking a pausing a moment, “actually - could I use the telephone?”   
“Of course, Miss,” the therapist replied, leaving the room as the others continued their work. 

“Kennedy? It’s Sophie Hollander,” Sophie greeted, pacing along in the silk spa robe.   
“Miss Hollander!” her personal shopper gushed, “Where have you been, my dear?”   
“Abroad, and now I’m in a real state,” Sophie admitted, flopping onto the bed, “I’m just in this morning, and I have nothing to wear. I was hoping you might have a dresser to spare who could meet me at Ushvani? Price is no concern, you know that.” Sophie bit her lower lip, hoping when he replied, “I’m certain we can work something out for a client as old and valued as you. This is Selfridges - not some high street newcomer, after all.” Sophie smiled, her excitement building as she thought of wowing Harry, “I have lost a bit of weight, but a simple elegant black dress and flats should be perfect. I, erm…have a date.” She listened to the animated squeal from her dresser before he replied, “I will send multiple sizes. Worry not. Your date is going to be perfect.”  
Sophie closed the call, relaxing against the bed and trying to ensure that she forgot nothing. 

 

Harry entered his flat in the twilight of the late afternoon, a brisk wind upon his back. Shedding his coat, Harry took the stairs to his sitting room, arranging the fireplace for a fire and adding a bit of kindling to encourage the flames. Once they caught, he watched for a moment before taking stock of the firewood and deciding to collect a bit from the back door. He passed the window in his sand-coloured cardigan, stopping immediately and turning back. Draped in a wool overcoat, a figure stretched across one of Harry’s lawn chairs and lay motionless in the dusk light. Harry would’ve known that figure anyplace, and smiled intensely before he abandoned the firewood to go to her. He stepped out the back door, halting momentarily at the chill as he approached her. Sophie’s bare feet extended from the coat, resting in his thick grass as she lay in the chair, sleeping. Harry stared at her luminous, pale skin wrapped in her large wool overcoat and sighed before leaning down and gently pressing his lips to hers.

“Canary,” he whispered as her she stirred, her eyes opening slowly, “you’re here.” He knelt down slowly, brushing the back of his hand across her cold cheek as she began to wake completely. “Canary, it’s frigid out,” Harry implored, “why didn’t you come inside to warm yourself?” Sophie pressed her frozen cheek against his warm palm, staring out blankly.   
“I didn’t want to be alone inside another room,” Sophie admitted softly. Harry lowered his gaze, considering her point before brushing his thumb across her lips and catching her sight. “May I join you here?” he asked as he gestured back to the flat, “I could make a nice pot of tea…”  
Sophie grasped Harry’s hand in hers, holding it against her lips for a moment as the glow seemed to return to her eyes. “Let’s go inside Harry,” she replied charmingly, “it’s frigid out here.” 

He nodded, standing and offering both hands to lift her as she stepped back into her shoes. They walked back through the garden to the back door, stopping to brush their feet on the mat as Harry retrieved her wedding ring and slipped it onto her delicate finger. Pausing to hold the door as she stepped through it, Harry followed and wrapped his arm around her. “Welcome home, Mrs. Hart,” he whispered, hugging her tightly to him and kissing her head. Sophie leaned against him, deeply inhaling the familiar scent of her husband’s home as she felt his arms around her. Harry guided her through the back hall to the coat closet to remove her coat and hang it. “I’m not certain if you have anything to wear in the guest room,” Harry commented, “but I would be happy to offer you my pajamas if you’d like to settle in, my dearest one.” He faded to silence as he removed her coat to discover her new figure displayed beautifully in a simple black dress from her personal shopper. He simply stared, speechless.

“I’d love to cuddle up in your pajamas,” Sophie gushed, turning round to discover his awestruck expression. Harry continued to hold her coat, looking down at her with such intense adoration that it appeared painful to him. Her return merely amplified his long ache for her, and in her proximity he could barely stand it any longer. “Wait!” he cried out, “Wait...right here.” Harry tucked her coat into the closet quickly and rushed up the stairs beside her. Sophie watched him, amused, before calling up, “I’m just going to switch on the kettle.” When he failed to respond, Sophie shrugged and walked into the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea. Unsure if he would like one, Sophie checked the cabinet and pulled a chamomile bag from the familiar box above the kettle before dropping it into her teacup. She then carried her steaming cup to the dining table and sat as she heard Harry descend the stairs. 

“No, it isn’t too much,” Harry announced as he left the stairs, “yes, Mrs. Hart, you deserve it.” He placed a large black jewelry box on the table in front of her as Sophie took her sip of the tea, making a bitter face. “Canary, is that from the pantry? Please don’t drink that, it is stale.” Harry took the cup from her hands, marching back to the kitchen to remedy it, “This is the tea from our wedding day.” Sophie slowly ran her fingers across the box, feeling the velvety texture as she asked with a laugh, “Why on Earth is it still in the pantry?”  
“I liked looking at it,” he answered as he worked, tossing the admission over his shoulder without any emotion. Sophie looked up for a moment, leaving the box to return to her coat and retrieve his note from their anniversary. Harry touched it as he replaced the teacup on the table, a beaming smile emerging at the sight. “You kept it?” he asked gently.

“It was a gift from my husband,” she replied, taking a fresh sip from her cup, “of course I kept it.” Sophie slowly opened the box, gazing down at the intricate and dazzling Chopard necklace silently. Harry was right of course - part of her did immediately think, _it’s too much, Harry._ Part of her **did** feel undeserving of such extravagance - yet a much larger part of her needed to feel like the woman Harry was so certain existed when he looked at her. “Thank you my love,” she said, her eyes not leaving the gold, “I will treasure it.” Harry lifted the delicate jewelry and carefully draped it over her clavicle before fastening it into place. Sophie simply felt it with her fingertips as Harry sat admiring her. “It’s quite heavy,” she admitted mirthfully, making Harry’s smile grow. “I wish I had a photograph of you,” he confessed, taking her hand and clasping it in his. “Just one of you, like this. Just as you are in my memory.”

Sophie sipped her tea, enjoying the feel of Harry’s hands in the silence of the dining room. “I’m sure there’s one in my personnel file,” she suggested, only to watch Harry’s expression sour, “Perhaps you could ferret away a copy somewhere in the flat for lonely nights.” Harry shook his head, dissatisfied with that idea. “No, my dearest...I want a proper photograph. I want you gazing back at me, radiant as always, on my desk in an antique frame. I want you: beloved, cherished, and on display.” Harry released Sophie’s hand slowly, his expression sheepish at his admission. Sophie rested her tea, wondering how to respond before she said simply. “Someday, Harry.” She gave his hand an additional, single squeeze to comfort him. “I would enjoy changing into your pajamas, if the offer stands,” Sophie remarked. Harry’s expression awashed with bliss as he replied, “I left them on the bed for you. Have a sit by the fire, and I will think on something for dinner.”

Sophie finished her tea, standing to grand a single kiss to Harry’s forehead before continuing up the stairs to undress and sit by the fireside. The bedroom was unchanged, and as she stepped from her dress she spied her skin cream resting on her bedside table and nearly wept. She had no idea it could be so overwhelming to return home; yet as she slipped into Harry’s pajama top and felt the silk against her skin it was as though she were whole again. She took in his lingering scent before grasping her cream and leaving the bedroom for the sitting room. Harry walked in a few moments later to find her sitting by the fire, slowly kneading the cream into her thigh as she sat near the fire. “I bought you another cup of tea,” Harry offered, his voice catching slightly in his throat as he looked down at her. Sophie’s legs were spread, her knees bent as she rubbed the cream into her skin and Harry could see plainly that she wasn’t wearing panties. 

“Aren’t you lovely?” Sophie cooed, continuing to rub the cream along the length of her leg in tight circles. Harry swallowed hard, kneeling into the wide space between her feet to rest the teacup on the floor near the fireplace. The smell of the cream caught his nose as he looked deeply into Sophie’s eyes as he could no longer contain his desire for her, which was immediate and consuming. “My love,” he sighed, leaning in close to her, “I can’t wait.” With that breathy declaration, Harry forcefully kissed her, leaning her back against the front of the sofa as he pursued her. Sophie heard the metal of his belt as he fumbled to focus on both tasks. “Don’t,” she moaned, “stop.” Harry halted in his tracks, pulling from her. He caressed her cheek and implored, “Are you alright, my love? I’m sorry if I pressured you in any way. I’m merely excited.”  
“No,” Sophie corrected, “ _Don’t stop._ ” Harry smiled as she continued, “I’m such a butterbrain, I...”

Harry hungrily kissed her again, parting quickly amid a shower of apologies. Sophie simply laughed, brushing her finger against his chin. “Have me Harry,” she cooed, “please.” Harry’s look of concern melted away as he forcefully grabbed her hip and pulled it to him. From that moment, there were no words spoken. There were only the hushed moans shared between them as Harry buried his face against her neck and forcefully thrust into his beloved. Sophie tried to hold onto Harry as he worked with abandon, his deep thrusts grinding her backside into the antique rug. She closed her eyes, drowsy with the harmony of his passions as he nibbled her neck and traced his tongue along her flesh. He was less gentle than normal, and Sophie found his loss of composure intoxicating. Just as the rug began to chafe painfully, he cried out in ecstasy and came inside her. 

“Thank you, dearest,” she purred, “I’ve thought of that so many times. Every day, I crave you.”   
“I should’ve eaten you right where I discovered you,” Harry commented lustfully, “I should have laid your gorgeous body onto the grass right there and explored those dangerous and enchanting curves.” Harry sighed, resting his cheek against the silk of his pajama top on Sophie’s chest. She lifted slightly, repositioning her neck along the sofa and sitting up a bit as she stroked his hair. “I rather think the neighbors might be scandalized by that,” she mused softly, smirking as she thought of it, “That doesn’t necessarily mean I wouldn’t enjoy such behaviour, I am merely pointing it out.”   
“Canary…” Harry lightly chided, lifting her hand and kissing it. They sat together, silent in the afterglow. “I bet it’s magical, making love under the stars,” Sophie imagined, staring at the fire.

Harry blinked a few silent moments, overjoyed as he hugged to her. The high of the moments was fading, and Harry realized he had almost nothing in the pantry to serve her. He pondered this as he lifted from her, only to have Sophie lean in and kiss his lips. Looking back at her smiling face made it impossible for him to fret, and in that renewed sense he rose to his feet as she admired him. “I could pop round to the market,” he offered, “unless a simple soup might prove satisfactory? What would you like for your celebratory meal?” Sophie watched as he considered what he had available, “I suppose we could order a takeaway as well, if you like.”   
“I think a nice simple meal in the quiet of our home is what I have been dreaming of for months,” Sophie gushed, “don’t go to any bother, a simple soup would be perfect.” Harry smiled, gesturing to her tea. “Enjoy your tea. I’ll be back to collect you when dinner is prepared.”

Sophie grasped her teacup, sipping as Harry turned and left the sitting room. The fire was slowly fading to embers, but Sophie was hoping for an early night so she simply let it fade. With her tea finished, she decided to wash up and check the network in hopes that her final report could be posted from here and spare her returning to HQ before her decompression ended. She didn’t know how long she would receive, but there were many tasks and people to consider, and she wanted as much time as possible to enjoy this quiet before it all began again. Sophie entered Harry’s office, taking a seat at his desk and admiring his newly placed headlines while the Kingsman network booted up from her sign in. She was so proud of his little traditions and his ability to find a way to take pride in each successful mission, even if she saw little point in it for herself. The network loaded and Sophie turned back to it, scanning her mission status updates.

Harry placed the tureen at the dining table, pausing to check the place settings and the wine selection when he heard Sophie overhead. “Harry!” She cried out, quickly rounding the staircase and descending to the dining room in search of him. She found him, looking at her with his apron still tied around his waist. “I’m baking a cheesecake for you,” he offered, taking in her blank expression, “it will be ready for tea tomorrow. I had the ingredients, and I just thought you’d enjoy it.” Sophie caught her breath, looking out across the beautifully set table and back to Harry before she informed him, “My decompression order came in. I was given 120 days, Harry.” Her slight sway matched Harry’s stunned expression, and they remained in silence momentarily. Harry seemed to snap out of the shared fog first, turning back to the kitchen to remove his apron and retrieve the water for dinner. His movement drew Sophie’s focus back to the present. 

“The table is so beautiful my darling. Will you be a few more minutes preparing?” Sophie said, “I really should dress properly.” Harry opened a drawer, grasping his corkscrew before looking back at her. “Tosh,” he dismissed, slowly twisting the corkscrew into his bottle of chardonnay, “I rather think you’re wearing too much already.” Harry raised his eyebrows as he teased this, his base flirtation deftly carried on his effortless charm. Harry kept his gaze locked on her as he easily removed the cork, which turned Sophie on intensely. Spoiled by his attention, Sophie shrugged, unbuttoning the pajamas and slipping them from her shoulders. She tossed it over to her chair as she stared back at him, now wearing only the Chopard necklace Harry had given her. “It’s uncanny,” Harry said, “minerals pulled from deep within the farthest corners of the Earth; cut and polished and crafted by master goldsmiths to create a single uniquely elegant adornment…” 

Harry set the bottle on the counter with the corkscrew, “How envious it must be, draped across that flawless skin.” Harry smirked as he said this, and Sophie made her way to him, hugging his neck as he hoisted her in his arms and lifted her from the ground in his embrace. Suspended in his strong arms, she brushed her nose against his before bursting merrily, “120 Days Harry. Four months!” She kissed him again, pressing her forehead to his cheek, “We’ll have Christmas together. I could help decorate your tree. Your birthday...” Sophie’s voice faded as she held to his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. Harry held her close to him, slowly lowering her back to her feet. “Come pet,” he whispered, hoping to hide his overwhelmed emotions from her, “let’s have a lovely meal together.” Harry turned back to grasp the wine, his smile etched into his face before joining her at the table. “I feel a bit silly,” Sophie said, blushing, “but a bit sexy too.”

“Don’t remain undressed if you are not comfortable,” Harry remarked as he poured her wine, “although it will break my heart to see it end.” Sophie blushed harder, covering her face as he took his seat and rested his napkin in his lap. “Perhaps you should also undress,” Sophie challenged. Harry opened the tureen, carefully lifting the silver ladle and without looking at Sophie replied, “First dinner - then dessert.” On this, they shared a smirk before tucking into their cream of mushroom soup. Sophie looked around the dining room, taking in the subtle changes since her last meal there. “That butterfly is new,” she commented, gesturing to the framed specimen on the opposite wall. As she admired it, Harry looked up and acknowledged her. “Yes,” he explained, “I framed it last fall. It’s an Old World Swallowtail. Do you like it?”   
“I do,” Sophie beamed, “I love thinking of you working so hard on them. They are beautiful.”

“You are beautiful,” Harry said simply, as though it were the obvious thing in the world. Sophie ran her hands over her heavy necklace, and Harry looked over her pridefully. “I’m so happy, Harry.” Sophie muttered softly, resting her hand at the corner of the dining table, “I’m just so terribly happy.” She paused for a moment, sipping her soup before she admitted, “I was very low, toward the end with nothing to do. If it hadn’t been for Japan. For you…”   
Harry rested his hand over hers and Sophie closed her eyes, “I don’t know that I would have made it through this, my dearest one. Right when I needed you most, you were there with me.”  
Sophie dipped her spoon into her soup, drawing it to her lips silently. Harry gave her hand a soft squeeze before returning to his meal. “That is thousands of miles away from this place, Canary. Leave it behind you with all your other victories, and enjoy tonight my love.”

Harry stood, collecting the bowls are carrying them to the kitchen as Sophie sat in silent thought. “Quite right,” she called as he rinsed the dishes, standing and grabbing Harry’s pajama top before walking to the end of the table. She paused, looking over her shoulder as Harry called back to her, “Canary, what is on your backside?” he asked curiously.  
“Rugburn,” she answered mischievously.  
Harry’s expression softened as he realized its source. He dried his hands on his dishtowel slowly, staring at it.   
“Well? What are you waiting for?” Sophie demanded, drawing Harry’s focus back to her face, “Come get me, Harry.”  
Harry paused momentarily, clicking his tongue and tossing the towel onto the table before giving chase. Sophie immediately ran up the stairs, and as he grabbed her waist her laughter rang throughout the flat. How he adored that laugh.

With Sophie tucked into his embrace, Harry carried her to his bed and set her carefully onto it. He then gently removed her jewelry and rested into the drawer of his wardrobe. Sophie slid down his duvet, sinking into the soft mattress with a long moan. “How could I have forgotten how glorious this feels?” Sophie pressed her face into the mattress, moaning sweetly into the mattress and collapsing into place. “I’m just going to remove the cheesecake from the oven,” Harry explained, “you relax here and I’ll return to you as soon as it is set.”   
Harry left the bedroom, certain she would be fast asleep before his return. Her long trial was over, and though Harry now could see what Sophie had been facing from Arthur all this time at this moment he was consumed with his gratitude that she was safe in their home, warm in their bed. All other woes were for another day. Harry cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen in careful silence. 

 

Sophie stirred, wincing slightly. Harry spooned her close to him, squeezing her so tightly in his sleep that it was a bit uncomfortable for her to breathe. She didn’t dare wake him though, allowing his light snore to spill over her ears and warm her cheek as she cuddled close to him. So many things in her life were, in one way or another, painful or unpleasant. This embrace was not among them - this ache was home. Sophie simply rested her arms over his, released her breath, and settled into the halo of his embrace. Her mind swirled with all the possibilities of what such a long decompression meant to them both, and only prayed Harry wasn’t taken from her during the time. She calmed herself that Arthur had no idea about their marriage, so he could not orchestrate some event to separate them. If Korea had taught her anything, it was to let go of her feelings concerning her one-time patron. Harry was right - Arthur simply did not matter.

Harry woke, carefully rising from the bed in an effort to not disturb his slumbering wife. After a shower and shave, he returned to his wardrobe to begin dressing. Sophie stretched against the bed, rolling onto her stomach and watching his back as she drew her knees up to her stomach. Harry finished buttoning his shirt as he caught her eyes in the mirror, turning to face her still sleepy form watching him. Throwing his striped tie over his head, Harry crossed the ends and began forming his knot as he gazed back at her upturned backside and large, devoted eyes. Sophie moaned softly, stretching her hands out before her and turning them in to support her face. She opened her mouth to utter a single drowsy phrase: “Routine morning cuppa.”   
Harry stopped drawing his tie and looked down at her lustfully. She was correct - he had given her assurances, and she was calling out for them now. Harry returned to the bed, pulling the knot free of his tie as he approached. 

Harry Hart was going to be late for work today.


End file.
